Pit Stop
by Konstantinsen
Summary: The Courier just wants a break from babysitting four teenaged girls who clearly do not belong in the Wasteland.
1. Pit Stop

For once, the Courier wished Benny could have aimed better.

Sure, it would have meant the Mojave would have gone the way the dodos what with all the shit that's been going down but at least he would not have to go through this hell. He just wanted to enjoy his bottle of wasteland tequila in peace.

"Six... Si~ix... He~ey..."

And not worry about four brats who had just come from another dimension. Seriously, did he prick himself on a hallucinogenic cactus or something? Who were this kids? _How the fuck did you all end up here in the first place?_

Blondie right next to him was piss drunk and going on mood swings. She would always start off with a brawl then after a few good sparring matches (or pretty much duels where he usually just took it as her punching bag until he snapped and beat her senseless that one time), she would start slurring about how she missed Remnant and how the Wasteland was cool and how Remnant was better but the Wasteland was even cooler...

"Have you ever thought of...you know...eating a cigarette?"

The Courier exhaled. "No."

Yang burst out laughing. And doubled over the stool in the abandoned gas station, completely passed out after one too many shots of whiskey.

And to think he could finally get some alone time, here comes Red and Black. Oh, correction. Ruby and Blake. No, more appropriately, Hyper and Cat-girl.

"So what's it like in Vegas? Is it like Vale? Can we go in all the fancy hotels? Do they still take bottle caps there? If the NCR's there, does that mean we can use paper money now? Six. Hey, Six!"

The Courier groaned. "What."

Blake sighed and pulled Ruby off of him before she could barrage him with even more questions. "She ate something that we found in the trash outside."

 _Goddamn it._ "What did she eat?"

"Sugar Bombs. Are they even safe?"

The Courier let out a low growl as he massaged his temples. "For Hyper, no. She's sugar high, ain't she." _Great. Hyper's got a damn sweet tooth._

"Pretty much."

Six glanced behind him to see Yang snoring on the floor and Blake keeping Ruby from bouncing off the walls. Orange beams filtered through the boarded up windows. Dusk was fading into night. The next stop was a long walk away. Time to hunker down for the night. _Wait._ Headcount: Blondie, Hyper, Cat-girl... "Where's Snowball?"

"The bathroom stalls caved in so Weiss went looking for a shrub," Blake answered nonchalantly as she kept her iron grip on the back of Ruby's collar.

"Oh. Well, it's getting dark so get her inside before the radroaches—"

An ear-piercing shriek ripped through the dry stillness from behind the gas station. Ruby, Blake, and the Courier bolted out of the building ready to take on a Legion hit squad only to find Weiss furiously freezing an entire colony of giant ants surging out of an ant mound that had been so conveniently unearthed by the previous day's sandstorm. From the looks of it, the problem had already been dealt with. Weiss stood there, gripping her bottoms, panting and horrified with her rapier aimed towards the rather macabre ice-statue of fire ants crawling on top of each other.

"Weiss, are you alright?" Ruby asked, Crescent Rose planted firmly into the ground.

"I think she's fine," a vexed Blake said.

"How the fuck... Did you piss on top of an ant mound?" the Courier demanded. "How did you not see that?"

Weiss saw him staring and nearly bowled him over with her ice tricks. "Don't look!"

Oh, that's right. She wasn't wearing anything below the waist because she was busy doing her business _on top of an ant mound_. The Courier groaned in frustration before walking back inside. He could feel an aneurysm coming on. And it wasn't from the bullets Doc Mitchell pulled out of his head.

* * *

Later that night, the Courier awoke groggily to Ruby poking his side with the blunt end of her scythe. He turned on his side and hissed, "What is it?"

"I have to go pee."

Six blinked. "Then pee."

"But what if I pee on a giant ant hill or...or a hidden mole rat colony?"

The Courier ended up lying flat on his back on the old mattress that every passing traveler slept on. "You're smart enough to know what they look like."

"But it's dark. And I can't see without your Pip-boy light."

 _You have got to be fucking kidding me, woman_ , his mind screamed."Can't you just use your Dust or Semblance thingies to see in the dark?"

"That's not how it works," Ruby said. Pouting.

The Courier swore he could see her pouting in the dark. "You're a big girl. Go pee outside."

"But Si~ix..."

Try as he might, she kept poking him on the sides until he finally snapped, got up and dragged her by the arm outside away from the frozen ant mound. She seemed happy to finally have some privacy behind a cactus...that was about the size of his boot.

"Don't look."

The Courier let out an annoyed hiss. His back was already turned. "Just get it over with. We got a long way to go in the morning."

"But it is already morning."

"Shut up and pee, already."

* * *

They all woke up to a sandstorm. A really strong sandstorm. So strong, in fact, that the sand could essentially flay off exposed skin after a good while, effectively trapping them all inside the gas station. It didn't help that visibility outside was reduced to two inches as well.

"I miss Remnant," Ruby said over the whistling of the desert outside, sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of the room.

"Yeah, I miss it, too," Blake admitted beside her.

"Aw, this place isn't that bad," Yang chirped.

"I beg to differ," Weiss mumbled.

At the bar, the Courier poured himself a shot of wasteland tequila. Their trip to Vegas was delayed (again) but at least he could finally enjoy some alone time with his alcohol. And maybe pretend that this was all just a dream and he would wake up by himself without ever having to worry about four high-maintenance teenage brats who would bitch and whine about anything and everything...

"A little too early to drink, eh, Six?"

 _Son of a bitch._ "Shut up, Yang."

"It's not wise to start your day off drunk, you know," Blake admonished.

"I agree. What would happen if this sandstorm died and you were too intoxicated to lead us to Vegas?" Weiss ranted. "What would happen if suddenly raiders storm in or those mutant monstrosities start tearing through the windows like Grimm and you're too drunk to shoot straight?"

Ruby poked him in the side. "You should try some Sugar Bombs. They're a good energy boost. Better substitute to that this early in the morning. Hey, let's have Sugar Bombs for breakfast and lunch!"

In his mind, the Courier was strangling these brats. But alas, he could only controllably exhale with as much patience as he could muster and let his tequila slosh in the glass. _Why me? Why the fuck do I have to babysit these brats? Why are they even here? Why, why, why, Goddamn it, why?_

He really wished Benny could have aimed better.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: January 29, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 6, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: January 29, 2018**

 **NOTE: It's an hour passed midnight and my mind's going places.**


	2. The Strip

**NOTE: Because a few people were asking, I thought I'd write a follow-up. Haven't played _Fallout: New Vegas_ in years, though.**

* * *

The Courier was drunk when he let them loose on the Strip.

It seemed like a good idea at the time as it got them off his back for once. So far, he had been enjoying a nice long solitary afternoon at the Aces Theater with nothing but his paid-for alcohol while Billy Knight monologued on stage about how hilariously shitty life is in this part of the Mojave. _No whiny brats, no damn upkeep, just me, Miss Pina Co Lada, and Mister Vodka On The Rocks..._

Well into the evening, he was already too drunk to notice the hand nudging him off the bar.

"Sir, sir..."

"Mmm, Veronica...ask Raul...he'll fix it up for 'ya..."

"Excuse me, sir."

"Damn it, Vee," Six slurred, his head planted firmly between his arms. "I'm busy..."

"Six." Tommy Torini's voice sobered him up a bit.

"Wha~?"

"You're, uh, friends got into some trouble," the owner of the Aces Theater explained.

The Courier scrunched his eyes. There's Tommy. And two—or was that four?—NCR suits in front of him. What's with the cattle prods? "I swear, officer... It wasn't me..."

"Sir, that's not what we're here for," an MP began. "You were referred to by a..."

Six could barely hear what they were saying. He just about shrugged them off until he heard...

"...Miss Ruby Rose claims that you are their legal guardian."

 _Wait, what?_ The Courier snapped his head up at them. "Who?"

"Would you please come down to the station with us," the other MP requested.

It took Six awhile to register what he meant. The NCR Embassy? No. Camp McCarran? No, that was way too far. Wait... _Station, station, station...have I been there before?_ Then it clicked. "The old police station?"

"Yes, sir."

 _Did I do something? I swear I paid Crocker off that one time but..._ The sudden realization kicked him back into sobriety. "Ah, shit."

* * *

"Six! Over here!"

In his mind, the Courier was raving in anguish and pure frustration. Meanwhile, his body calmly followed the MP to the holding cell where Yang's arm had been waving at him through the bars. Weiss was sulking in the back while Blake was standing on their bed, staring through the barred window above them.

"Six! Great! I swear it wasn't my fault," Blondie started. "You see...um..."

Six's tired eyes moved from one person to another. "Hey, don't look at me," Ruby protested. "It was a natural response!"

"What the _fuck_ did you four do now?" he seethed.

Yang deflated in front of him. "Err, long story?"

"Some drunks groped her, they got into a fight, drew in a big crowd, nearly caused a riot in front of Gomorrah," the MP robotically answered for her.

Ruby was twiddling her thumbs, chuckling nervously. "Yeah, uh...that's sort of...what happened. Say, could you, um, bail us out?"

 _Goddamn it. How much are these kids going to set me back? Four thousand caps? Eight?_ The Courier nodded at the MP who proceeded to unlock their cell. Blondie and Hyper hugged him while Snowball walked by looking miffed with Cat-girl giving him an apologetic tap on the shoulder.

"Hey, guys!" someone called from the far back. "What about us? Ruby!"

"Who the fuck—" was all he managed to say when he heard the most painful thing to come out of Hyper's mouth to date.

"Jaune! Of course! Hey, Six, could you bail out our friends, too? They're over there at the back. Six, meet Jaune, Pyrrha, Nora, and Ren. Could you bail them out for us? Ple~ase? Please, please, please, pretty please?"

 _Are you fucking kidding me, woman_ , his mind screamed. Seeing _four more_ kids in wierd-ass outfits— _is that redhead wearing Greek armor?_ —staring back at him like he was their only hope was enough to give him a migraine on the spot. _Where the fuck are you all coming from?_

"With all the hardware these kids got, you wouldn't think they were Brotherhood of Steel agents," the MP whistled as he shuffled through his keys.

"Brotherhood of what?" that blonde Jaune boy asked.

"Long story," Yang said. "Right, Six?"

 _Goddamn it, kids_ , he thought while he rubbed his temples. Needless to say, the Courier was back at the Aces Theater, fifteen thousand caps poorer—eight thousand for the bail and the rest on damages and bribes. _Nobody knows the troubles I've seen... Nobody knows my sorro~ow..._

* * *

"Six. This. Is. _Awesome_!"

"I didn't know you owned the whole tower."

"Are you some authority figure here?"

"Can Victor make pancakes?"

The Courier dropped onto a stool in front of the bar at the Lucky 38 while Victor mixed him a strong cocktail. He really needed a good drink after all the shit that went down the past couple days. Teams RWBY and JNPR—what drugs were these kids on that they named themselves like that?—was costing him by the thousands in damage control. That was not to mention the countless times Yang, Ruby, or any one of these brats nearly got them kicked out of every casino on the Strip.

"Look at this view!"

"You can see the whole Mojave."

"Vegas is very bright tonight."

"Hey, um, Pyrrha? You want a drink?"

"Of course, Jaune."

Six had already downed three glasses when Victor started blasting Blue Moon over the speakers. The kids started to dance like they were at a promenade or some fancy Ultra-Luxe ball. Even Snowball, Cat-girl, and that redhead Spartan were waltzing with their partners. So much for some quality drinking time...

Later that night, a few good hours after the brats all went downstairs to the presidential suite for some shut-eye, he stumbled into his own personal quarters half-plastered only to find his own bed occupied by a snoozing Hyper, Blondie, Cat-girl, and Snowball. _Goddamn it._

* * *

"Colonel, it's for you," said the puzzled radio operator.

Colonel James Hsu picked up the receiver. "Yes, Six?"

"Colonel!" sputtered the voice on the other end of the NCR emergency frequency. "Shit...ah, you ever had kids?"

Hsu exhaled deeply before gesturing at the operator that he was taking control. "Six, this line is for emergency purposes only. Do you need any support?"

"I need a fucking babysitter," came the slurred response.

The colonel was pinching the bridge of his nose at this point. "Six. You're drunk."

"Wha'da'ya mean I'm drunk?" An audible hiccup. "Fuck it...I'll get Cass to come over..."

The line clicked off before Hsu handed the receiver back to the operator.

"Is everything okay, sir?"

"Everything's fine. As you were," he dismissed while walking back to his office.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 1, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 3, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 1, 2018**


	3. River

**NOTE: Wow. Didn't expect quite the reception for this. Alas, I've been writing more again.**

* * *

Ruby had been staring at him again.

Rather, she had been staring at the decorated lever-action repeater slung over his shoulder while he fanned the small sparks into a sizable flame. By the time the campfire had grown large enough to cook raw meat, he could feel her drooling over his back.

"For the tenth time, Hyper: _no_ ," Six said tiredly.

"But I didn't say anything," Ruby deflected.

"I don't have any of that Aura crap but I can feel you gawking."

"She has a crush on you~" Yang teased and earning herself a glare from her sister.

"She has a crush on your gun," Blake pointed out.

"Ruby, please stop bothering him so he can cook our dinner," Weiss harped only to hear Yang playfully snicker something about her being jealous to which Snowball went on a tirade about some lady standards that Six could care less about.

Meanwhile, Hyper dropped back to her place beside her teammates with a visible pout. Team JNPR later joined them around the campfire with some cacti and desert fruits they foraged nearby. Well, most of them; it took a while for Jaune to limp over.

"The hell happened to you?" Six asked. Upon closer inspection, he sighed. "Really?"

Blondie burst out laughing, pointing at the many cactus thorns that Pyrrha and Ren were cautiously pulling out of Knight-boy. Still, he refused to sit down on the ground.

At that, the Courier gestured at him to turn around.

"You missed a spot," Yang choked out before laughing again.

"Not funny, Yang!"

 _And you want to be a fucking knight, Knight-boy?_ "Pull it out of your ass. I ain't doing it for you," Six ordered sharply.

"I can't reach."

"Yes, you can," everyone chorused to which Jaune hesitantly and very painfully (and much to Yang's entertainment) extracted the rather large cactus spine out of his rear.

"Hey, Ruby, 'ya want some?" Nora offered, munching on a peeled banana yucca fruit.

"No thanks."

She tilted her head. "You alright? You look a little down."

"She's just upset because Six didn't want her to touch his gun." Yang stopped midway through her bite when she realized what came out of her mouth. "You know what I meant! I meant his rifle! His _rifle_! She wanted to mess with his rifle!"

"Wow, thanks for making me look like a pedophile, Blondie," Six groused, letting the fire crackle at the awkward silence.

* * *

"Does it have a name? Did you give it a name? You should give it a name."

 _Answer the damn question and maybe she'll finally shut up._

"Seriously? Why'd you call it 'Medicine Stick'? Ooh, wait! Does it shoot medicine? Like those blow-darts but instead of poison, it heals you up? That's so cool! Why'd did you put feathers on it, though? It looks weird."

 _Damn it. That backfired. Screw it. Just ignore her and keep walking._

"Six, these bottle caps are making my hips itchy! Why can't we just use the NCR's paper money?"

 _Two more hours. Just two more hours._

"My feet hurt. Six! Could you carry me, please? Pretty please? My feet hu~urt..."

 _Almost there. Right up this hill._

"Si~ix, I want to pee! I need to pee!"

The Courier yanked her arm and pointed at the spot far enough away from the old truck perched over the edge of the parking lot. Some sandbags and a few metal sheets had been conveniently set up to provide protection to any potential sniper aiming to pick out whatever was down below. "Stay there and watch for any threats."

Ruby whined. "Si~ix, I really need to pee! I've been holding it in!"

 _Goddamn it, woman._ "Fine. Go find a spot but I want you back there providing overwatch, alrigh—" Six deflated in the wake of her Semblance, grumbling at the sight of rose petals floating to the ground. _Tired, my ass. Feet hurt, my ass. And you turn into the fucking Flash when I let you loose. Goddamn Hyper._

* * *

They had one job. One _goddamn_ job.

That was to make sure nothing and absolutely nothing would compromise their flank while he crossed the Colorado River. Now Six was at the end of his rope when he got back from scouting the promontory on the Arizona side.

Half of Cottonwood Cove had been leveled. It looked as if the Boomers had flown a sortie over the whole area. This part of the Mojave Wasteland had been battered into an even worse wasteland. All because his eight shitty brats used their Dust or Semblance or Aura—whatever the fuck they called that physics-defying shit—on the poor sons of bitches who thought it was a good idea to sneak up on them while they were all skinny dipping in the water.

 _Skinny dipping_ in the fucking _water_. _All_ of them. With _lakelurks_ nearby. While people _watched_.

"What in the goddamn..."

"Our actions were completely justified!" Pyrrha argued, her free hand holding a towel over most of her bare body while her other arm pressed her mechanical spear-gun pressed against the throats of the uniformed and slightly singed NCR privates tied to the guardrail.

"Put some clothes on, damn it," Six ordered. "I'll handle this."

"We should castrate them," Weiss hissed from behind some rubble. In fact, all the girls bar Pyrrha were behind one of the derelict vehicles parked by the railing, stark naked, covering their bare chests with their arms, and peeking their heads over the car's frame to glare at the unfortunate sods.

"Where are the boys?"

"Over here," Ren called, his damp pale arm waving from behind the concrete structure that was once the headquarters of the Legion bastion stationed here.

"Are they done? Can we come out now?" Jaune asked.

"NO!" chorused all the girls.

"But I'm sticky, the doors are locked, and it's cold out here," he whined. "Can someone at least toss me a towel or any of my clothes?"

"Whose idea was it to strip naked and go swimming in the river, anyway?" Six demanded, his hands pressed firmly on his hips while the NCR privates whimpered underneath him.

Fingers pointed to Yang who pointed to Ruby. "Wasn't my idea!"

"Yes, it was," Cat-girl deadpanned.

"You all agreed to it!" Blondie deflected. At that, most of the girls nodded with complimentary 'yeahs' and 'it was a good idea at the time.'

Six, meanwhile, pinched the bridge of his nose. _I'm getting sick of this shit._ "What if it was a goddamn Legion scouting party? What if these goddamn perverts shot back at you? What if the rapids picked up? You kids could have fucking drowned! Did you ever think of that?"

"We grew up on an island," the half-sisters said. "We can swim against the current."

"At Remnant, we would sometimes hold swimming tournaments," Nora chirped. "They're really fun!"

"I doubt Jaune could swim, though," Blake remarked much to Pyrrha's amusement.

"I heard that!"

"He actually almost drowned," Weiss added nonchalantly. "Twice. He was panicking even after Ren pulled him out of the water."

"That was _not_ the case, Weiss!"

The Courier massaged his temples to kill his growing headache. He was going to have to restock on aspirin after this. _NCR is definitely going to be asking a lot of questions. What the fuck am I supposed to tell them now?_ "You kids are bleeding me dry, holy fucking nut-sack..."

"We're sorry, sir!" one of the privates cried. "We won't do it again, sir!"

"Please, we've learned our lesson!" another whinnied while tears and sweat rolled down his cheeks.

"Just don't tell our CO, please!" the third pleaded.

"You boys have done screwed yourselves," Six warned darkly. "If I were you, I'd forget about this whole experience and march back up to your posts. Better yet, ask for a transfer. These brats of mine won't forget your faces anytime soon."

The privates feverishly nodded.

The Courier then eyed the girls. "What the hell are you standing around here for? Put some goddamn clothes on!"

"Crap! Sorry!"

"Oops!"

"Don't look!"

"Can we come out now?"

"NO!"

Meanwhile, Six withdrew the NCR emergency radio from one of his vest pouches and began extending the range on the antenna so he could call in a ranger squad to retrieve their men. "Goddamn kids had one goddamn job and they somehow manage to _fuck_ it up..."

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 1, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 2, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 2, 2018**

 **NOTE: Thank you for the many suggestions. I'll see if my brain can come up with more. Also, thank you, _Colossus Bridger_ , for suggesting the general themes for this fic.**


	4. Meat

**NOTE: I'm honestly surprised by the reception this fic is getting.**

* * *

The Courier regretted not bringing any extra rations on this excursion.

That meant he had to leave the brats to go scrounge up some grub for tonight. _They call themselves Hunters and Huntresses and they can't even bring back a damn carcass to fry._ Besides, after the fracas at Cottonwood, he was sure they would botch up something as simple as hunting geckos.

Suffice to say, Six was actually relieved when he got back. He was expecting some sort of carnage or maybe the NCR probing the kids. Instead, everything was peaceful. They even managed to get a small fire going without his help, letting the embers crackle while they laughed and prattled around it like it was another dull day. No incidents, no lights, no magic shit, no battleground... _Huh, I guess I was just being paranoid. Maybe I should've brought one of them hunting with me._

"We're having bloatflies tonight, kids," the Courier announced, holding up a colony of dead bloatflies he strung up together.

Of course, the brats went green—the girls recoiled while the boys simply went pale.

 _Why am I not surprised? Should've expected they'd act like this. Damn it._ He started up the fire quickly and began laying out the bloatflies over a make-shift grill fastened from rebar, wire mesh, and rusted pipes. "Suck it up. It's dinner and there aren't any geckos around."

"Why..." Weiss began only to turn around to try not to heave upon seeing the puss oozing out of carcasses.

"So...flies for dinner, huh," Ren gulped. He began looking around for barrel cacti while Jaune hoped and prayed that fresh, clean water would come out of the empty Nuka-Cola bottle he scooped off the ground.

"You kids need to learn to suck it up," Six barked. "This is the desert. Out here, these little buggers will save your life. They're rich in protein and a good source of energy."

"And..." Ruby covered her mouth. "...smelly."

"I want panca~akes...not flies..."

"Nora, don't make it obvious."

"Could be worse, I guess..."

 _Picky little brats._ The Courier pulled out a fresh packet of aspirin, expecting another migraine to come on. "Either you eat or you starve, kids."

"Six has a point," Pyrrha said, standing up and (hesitantly) picking up a skewered chunk of barbecued bloatfly.

The Courier raised his fist to the sky in gratitude. _Thank you, Sparta, for agreeing with me! Finally, someone with some proper survivalist sense—_

The look on her face completely betrayed her previous confidence. "These are...edible, right?"

 _Goddamn it, Sparta._ "Why else did I cook them?" Six growled. Pyrrha took several deep breaths, exchanging unsure glances with the other brats, then chomped down with her eyes firmly shut... The Courier could feel the whole group goggle closer to see what would happen next.

"It's...actually pretty good. It's kind of like chicken," she said, devouring the rest of her dinner.

"See? It's not that bad. Now eat," he ordered as the brats took their respective skewers, with his eyes narrowing pointedly at Weiss. "No excuses, Snowball. Dinner is dinner."

"But...it's a fly."

"Six is right. This isn't really that bad," Yang remarked, munching on a solid mouthful.

"It's a bug. We're eating bugs, Yang," Weiss countered, holding up her share of grilled boatfly a good arm's length from her face. "Big, oversized bugs with puss and eggs and..."

Six let out an audible groan. "Snowball, you had ant stew this morning and you weren't complaining."

Weiss froze, her food nearly falling to the ground. In fact, all the other brats tensed up like statues, their half-eaten bloatflies starting to attract smaller flies. They way they stared at him almost convinced him he had grown a third head.

"What?"

"I thought that was...beef," Blake mumbled.

"Yeah. Wasteland beef stew. Half of it was beef. The rest is usually fire ant, radscorpion, radroach, mole-rat, or all of the above. You kids got lucky today because they threw in the menu favorite: brahmin balls. Man, I'd kill for some fried brahmin balls right now; that shit hits the spot good." Things quieted down all of a sudden. It was at that moment then that Six learned that they had an aversion to wasteland meat because all the kids—including Sparta and Cat-girl of all people!—were heaving their guts into the ditch behind them.

"Six, why!?"

"Faunus don't eat...that..."

"Never...never ever!"

"Why didn't you tell us!?"

"I thought they were hard eggs..."

"I'm checking the meat next time..."

The Courier dropped his face into his palms. _Why did these kids have to so fucking picky? Why, goddamn it, why?_ "That's disrespectful, you know," he seethed through gritted teeth. "At least be damn grateful that you weren't eating the shit they serve at the Ultra-Luxe."

"I'll have you know," Snowball hollered, "that the food at the Ultra-Luxe is among the best in this whole wasteland!"

"No offense, Six, but I agree," Hyper added apologetically while patting a retching Yang beside her.

"You ate at the Ultra-Luxe?" Six asked incredulously. "Seriously?"

"We all did," Nora answered. "They had the most wonderful pancakes ever! It was really fancy and the White Glove Society were really nice and polite. Weren't you there? Don't you remember? "

"Actually, that was when he was passed out drunk at the Lucky 38," Blake corrected. "So he wasn't with us that time."

Weiss folded her arms at him. "I don't understand why you simply refuse to go near that place, Six! The Ultra-Luxe serves the cleanest, most fitting banquets filled with the finest meats and lentils we've had in a good long while, besting all the other casinos on the whole Strip. Why you'd settle for anything less despite being so wealthy just boggles my mind!"

The disbelieving mug the Courier sported was what unsettled them though. The long, drawn-out silence made Yang ask, "Uh, Six? Yoohoo! You still there?"

"You brats do know that they used to serve human meat at the Ultra-Luxe, right?" he deadpanned. "Didn't you get the memo or did I forget to tell you that story?"

Six felt the edges of his duster ruffle in the breeze while a tumbleweed bounced passed.

"WHAT!?"

 _Huh. I guess I forgot to tell them._ The Courier sighed and went back to tending the campfire as the brats went back to gagging. On the bright side, he didn't get a headache tonight. The downside, though, was that he had to settle for the reasonably expensive prepackaged food being shipped over from California at their next stop.

He really regretted not bringing any extra rations.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 3, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 5, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 4, 2018**

 **NOTE: This was originally written with Cinder in it but I scrapped it and rewrote it. Originally, Cinder was supposed to make her debut here but** **I didn't think it would work well. So I drafted another chapter where the Courier ends up taking Cinder in (much to his extreme annoyance) and dealing with the flak he gets from teams RWBY and JNPR. But after that, I don't know what else to do with it. My mind's already coming up with scenarios between Six and Cinder which would make everything awkward for the rest. And yes, I have been reading the other fanfics (including _Sand, Fire, and Blood_ ).**


	5. Shack

**NOTE: Heads up. This is more family than humour. On an unrelated note, thanks to _Shaneman17_ for the suggestion.**

* * *

"I don't know what to do with them," Six groused, hunched over his seat with a half-empty bottle of home-brewed tequila sloshing in his hands.

A ghoulified hand tapped the shoulder pads on his duster. "You haven't ditched them, boss."

"What are you going on about?"

Raul leaned back on his folding chair as the embers flickered out of the fire pit in front of his shack. "If you really hate them that much, why haven't you kicked them to the curb yet?"

"I don't hate the little brats," the Courier corrected. "They're just costing me a fortune."

"Exactly my point." The ghoul took a swig of Sunset Sarsaparilla while thick smoke continued to rise from the burning pile-up of military supply trucks down the battered highway. He gestured at the smoldering wreckage. "How much did you pay the NCR for _that_ now?"

"Enough to bankrupt an entire trading outfit."

Raul chuckled. "Well, you are pretty well off."

"I always keep a contingency fund and these goddamn brats are draining it." Six gulped down and sighed. "Been going out more so I wouldn't dry up. Have to lug them around, too, 'cause they might burn down the Strip if I left them there."

"Boss, admit it. You like having them around."

The Courier gave his old friend a long hard glare. "Have you ever had kids, Raul?"

The ghoul sat back in thought. "You know me, boss. Had a large family. I used to take care of my cousins whenever they visited the ranch. The little _diablos_ would run around, stir some trouble, get themselves hurt from some _putos_ in the neighborhood." A warm smile stretched over what was left of his face. "Those were the days."

Six dipped his head. "Good for you."

"Boss, I don't have the best advice for you when it comes to this but you should trust those _hijas_ and _hijos_. Unlike the both of us, they are blessed with still being in their youth, still having that unique innocence that you and I both know should not exist in a place like this. How old is the youngest?"

"Hyper is a goddamn child. For a fifteen-year-old, though, she can swing that scythe-rifle of hers like a professional baseball pitcher. The rest are about sixteen, seventeen, I don't know."

"You have to admit: they're acrobatic, skilled, and unbelievable."

The Courier nodded. _With their magic shit, they really are unbelievable._ "I've seen them. They have their own little squads. RWBY and JNPR. Pretty dumb names but I guess I could see how that works." He didn't realize it but a small smirk curved on the edge of his lips. "They're pretty efficient. Some of the best teamwork I've seen in a long while..."

"You know, boss, that reminds me of—"

The smile was suddenly replaced by a sharp scowl. "Don't bring it up, Raul."

The ghoul snickered. He turned on his waist and called out to the rocks behind his shack. "You can come out now, little _diablos_!"

Silence.

"Raul is cooking!" Six hollered. At that, the brats slowly emerged from behind the rocky outcrop. He ran a quick headcount... "Shaolin, where's Pancake?"

"We thought she was here," Ren replied.

"We've been looking all over for her but can't find her," Ruby added.

 _You lost your own fucking teammate?_ "Where'd you last see her?" he demanded.

"We split up while foraging," Jaune explained.

The way the Courier bore into the blonde almost made the boy melt into the ground. "And?"

"Well, she sort of...disappeared."

Six growled. _Goddamn it._ "Where was this?"

Jaune raised his arm to point to the expanse of desert behind them when a familiar pink blob hopped out of the dark with something in her hands.

"Hey, everyone!"

"Nora! Where have you been? We were looking all over you!" echoed pretty much the rest of the brats.

Raul tapped Six on the shoulder. "Quite the lot, eh, boss? I told you: trust them. They'll prove themselves when you're not always around breathing down their necks like a hungry..."

Both veteran wastelanders felt their jaws go slack when they saw the massive egg Nora was snuggling. Weiss popped the question for them. "Nora, where did you get that?"

"Oh, there was this abandoned train yard near the lake," Pancake said with a dismissal wave. "Could you believe? The mutants there couldn't even see me! I think they're blind."

" _Ay Dios mio_ , _hija_..."

 _You have got to be fucking kidding me, woman!_ Six could tell Raul was sporting the same expression of absolute bewilderment at this. "Pancake, how—"

The egg began to shake and Nora held it out for the whole group to see. Cracks began to form until the top flaked off and an infant deathclaw reared its head into the world with a soft cry. Predictably, Blondie, Hyper, and Pancake started fawning over the babe.

"Ah, shit," was all the Courier had to say when the roars of several adult deathclaws echoed from less than twenty yards away.

* * *

"I swear to God, if I find a gateway to Remnant, I'm kicking you all back in," Six grumbled.

It would not be long before the NCR would start asking him about how an entire colony of deathclaws somehow fell from the sky and landed (in pieces) outside the walls of Camp McCarran. For now, he could only grimace at his misfortune as teams RWBY and JNPR relished Raul's vegetable stew (after they meticulously confirmed that the stew was made with only the vegetables that were grown from the ghoul's garden).

 _Trust them, my ass._ The Courier looked to the group huddled in the middle of the shack, the brats clearly enraptured by Raul's stories of the Old World. _Well, they did a good number on those deathclaws. Maybe... Maybe, they deserve a bit more credit._

Six turned away to hide the prideful smile forming on his lips. _Damn kids. Damn good kids._

Meanwhile, Pancake's baby deathclaw nuzzled its sleepy head against the side of his boot.

* * *

The Courier was still awake when he saw her carefully tiptoeing over her sleeping friends towards him with a determined look on her face. "What are you going to ask me, Hyper?"

"I'm asleep!" Ruby squeaked, frozen as a statue.

"Don't expect me to hold your damn hand while you pee."

"It's not that," she hissed back. "It's just something...important."

He sighed, sat up on his mat, and flashed the light of his Pip-boy against the space beside him. He waited until the little scythe-wielder plopped down next to him, her curious eyes refusing to meet his. "What is it?"

"If you don't mind me asking. I...I'm just curious... Well, actually, we all were so...I mean...i-it's not my place to ask... But if you're comfortable with it, you know... We just wanted to know, you know..." Hyper took in some deep breaths before throwing him a stern look. "Were you part of a team? Y'know, with Raul? Did you have a team? Like us?"

 _Goddamn it._ Six took in her gaze before shifting his attention to the wall.

"I'm sorry. I was just...I couldn't sleep and I—"

"Ruby, I'll tell you another time. For now, get some rest."

The girl blinked. "You will?"

"Yeah. But not tonight. Go to sleep," came the somber response as he turned off his Pip-boy light.

"Okay. Goodnight, Six," she mumbled with a solemn nod then went back to her cot next to her snoring sister. Six caught her parting glance before she turned onto her side.

 _Goodnight, Ruby._

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 1, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 8, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 7, 2018**

 **NOTE: I *might* be tossing in Qrow or Glynda later on. Who knows? I also still have my initial draft with Cinder in it. Anyway, thanks also to _Review dude_ for bringing up Qrow. Thanks as well to everyone for taking the time to read this and helping turn this one-shot into a multi-chapter story.**


	6. Mineshaft

**NOTE: Well. I think I started something. Crap. More family than humor. Probably more adventure, too. I dunno.**

* * *

 _"I told you: trust them. They'll prove themselves..."_

 _And look where this has gotten me, Raul. No offense, buddy, but that was some shit advice._ The Courier set the NCR emergency radio back into his pouch, letting the light from his Pip-boy illuminate the chunks of bedrock and granite that sealed them inside this potential coffin. _Of course. No reception. Goddamn it, kids._

"Hey, Six?"

"What?" he groaned.

"I'm...I'm really, really sorry."

Six looked up at Ruby's apologetic mug reflecting off the green light. He couldn't stay mad at her—or any of the other brats—forever now, can he? "It's okay, Hyper."

Her eyes glistened like fragile glass. "No, Six. I'm really, really sorry about all this."

 _It's fine, Hyper. You didn't do anything wrong. Aside from caving us in this mineshaft a good thirty meters underground, of course._ "Sorry about what? Shit like this happens. Lady Luck just gave us the finger again. Right up the ass, too. Then she'll fuck you sideways and doggy-style 'til you come out your nose."

"I...what?"

The Courier wanted to slap himself. _Of course. The innocence of a child. Way to be a role model with a vocabulary, Six._ "Never mind." _My radio won't work but maybe..._ "Check your scroll. That thing keeps tabs on your buddies, right?"

"Uh, about that..."

Six felt his eyes narrow behind his visor. "Hyper."

Ruby shuffled her boots against the dirt until she showed him her scroll. Or what was left of it. The rest had been hopelessly crushed by the rocks.

 _Well, shit._ No use in dallying any further. He stood up and began running his hand against some of the chunks of rock that separated them from the rest of the other brats. "Come on. I could feel a draft somewhere. If we can find it, we might be able to get out of here."

"Okay," came the soft, guild-ridden reply.

It took them awhile but a section of the rubble folded under the pressure of his rifle's stock, collapsing into a disused rail cart rusted into place. The tracks led deeper into the mine and, oddly enough, the source of this unending breeze. Six held up his arm, allowing the Pip-boy light to illuminate their path. "Let's go, Hyper."

Ruby silently followed him. The Courier may have been on-guard for all possible threats but he was perceptive enough to tell that the little tyke behind him was shouldering all the blame for this potentially deadly mishap.

 _I don't blame you, kid. Don't blame yourself, either._

* * *

They had been walking in the darkened silence for a good twenty minutes until they came across a cavern where the tracks split. It came as a bit of a surprise though when Six pushed down on a lever and the entire room hummed; the fluorescent lamps hanging off the wire all lit up. That meant that either the power source was still functional or restored to working capacity. But he knew that no machine independent of HELIOS One or Hoover Dam could still generate this much electrical output after being in disuse for over two hundred years. _Someone's been here recently._

The rotting wooden furniture and the oxidized shelves were a welcoming sign of respite. The benches were cold but sturdy enough to support his weight. And he was right: someone took the time and effort to clean off the dirt and grime on the table. The splotches of oil were still damp while an assortment of casings lay scattered about. _Raiders or some poor lost souls, someone's been here._

"Hey, Six?"

Contrary to what he thought, he was actually relieved to hear her voice. "Yeah, Hyper?"

"You think everyone else is okay?"

Six raised his brow at her but she couldn't see that. "They're faring better. We got the worst of it, anyway."

"You think so?"

 _I like to think so._ "Yeah."

Ruby was choking on her voice now. "But...but I caused the cave-in. I...hit the support beams and...it got the mutants but...we—"

"Hyper, don't blame yourself for something unlucky."

"It wasn't unlucky, Six!" she snapped. "You warned us about close quarters! You warned us to be careful with our weapons. You told me not to use Crescent Rose. You warned us and we didn't listen!"

The Courier sat there, watching. _Ah shit, is she crying?_

"I'm sorry. Really, really, _really_ sorry, Six. Yang is probably hurt and so is Weiss and Blake. And Jaune and Pyrrha might be trapped with no air and, and, and, and Nora could be...and Ren...and, and, and, and—"

He never considered Ruby to be the type to hyperventilate but for good measure he gripped her arms and forced her to sit down on the bench just in case. "Hyper. Contingencies like this happen whether you like it or not. How you adapt to it and survive is what matters. And have some faith in your buddies, damn it."

"But—"

He wiped away a wet mix of tears, sweat, and gunk off her cheek. "Ruby."

She stared at him as though he had grown a third head.

"Listen to me, kid. Blaming yourself isn't going to help. Your team needs you to dig through this mountain to find them while they do the same. Trust your teammates. Trust your friends. Have faith in their capability to survive on their own. They may give you hell but in the end, when you think everyone's left you, they're going to be the only people in this godforsaken world who'd run up out of the blue and take the hit for you when the shit hits the fan." _Take it from me._

He let her go and faced the two branching tunnels. It was like the flip of a coin. Heads, you get death. Tails, you get death. The difference was how long it took before death came. _Wind is coming strong from the right, possible exit route. Then again, the others could be still trapped in the left. Or they're both dead ends._

"Six, we should go this way."

He turned to Hyper; the girl peered into the dark with the confidence and determination that reminded him of his own. And he felt proud. A bit.

* * *

"Shhh."

"Six, you hear that?"

Footsteps. Muffled voices. To their right.

"Syrup! Syrup, wait!"

"Nora, be careful!"

"Hey, I can feel a draft here!"

"Syrup? You smell something, boy?"

The three girls and their pet infant deathclaw crashed through the rocks in a thick cloud of dirt. Syrup leaped vigorously around the legs of the Courier as he stared at them struggling to get off each other. He lifted his arm to give them some light.

"Weiss! Blake! Nora! You're all okay!" And almost immediately, Hyper launched a rapid string of apologies. "I'm so sorry, sorry, sorry! It was my fault, I'm so, so sorry!"

"Ruby, it's okay. We're all fine." Cat-girl glanced to her right. "Right, Weiss?"

Snowball puffed. But the Courier could see through her front to the forgiving mug she flashed their way. "I'm just glad we're not separated anymore."

Pancake, ridiculously chipper as ever, flailed her arms around. "I thought we were goners! But Syrup led the way, didn't you, you good boy! Oh. Hey, Six!"

Six didn't wave back, instead shuffling away the mangy little monster away with his boot. "Good. You kids are still alive." _I was starting to get worried._

"Oh, your concern is well appreciated," hissed Weiss.

"You can feel that, right?" Blake interjected, her fingers catching the end of the black ribbon waving over her shoulder.

Ruby nodded. "Yeah, we were following these tracks. This wind should be coming from down the line."

"What about the others?" Snowball asked.

Pancake was all over Hyper. "Did you run into Ren or Jaune or Pyrrha—"

Ruby deflated. "I don't know. I was hoping you ran into them."

"Her scroll broke," Six deadpanned. "Check your scrolls. You should have tabs on your friends, right?"

All three girls held up their non-responsive electronic devices. "No signal."

 _Are you kidding me? Really?_ If it were not for his helmet visor, they would have seen the disbelief scratched all over his face. _So much for your sophisticated Remnant technology._

"Don't worry, we'll mine through the walls 'til we get them!" Nora declared, hefting her unwieldy sledgehammer against the ceiling, scraping a good chunk off a rickety support beam, to which a gloved hand forced it back down onto the ground.

"Damn it, Pancake! We've already had one cave-in," Six growled.

"Oops, sorry!" she chirped.

The Courier was about to proceed further down the tracks when he felt something warm and damp against his pant leg. It took a lot of mental and emotional restraint in the wake of the brats snickering—yes, he heard them snicker—to not kick the horned bastard into the wall.

"Syrup! Bad Syrup!" came the half-hearted and rather mirthful rebuke.

Six growled as he controllably nudged Pancake's little devil away, having now learned that its piss smelled just as bad as he would have expected. That and he found out that the filters on his gas mask needed to be replaced.

* * *

The hinges had rusted the door shut. The Courier gave a solid kick, reducing the rickety old board to splinters and eliciting a shriek. From the other side...

"Oh my..."

"It's not what it looks like!"

 _Well, shit._ "Goddamn it, kids."

Six was sure he would have to address some rather physically sensitive issues with the brats sometime in the future. Stumbling into something that Snowball declared as 'absolutely scandalous' and 'unspeakably unbelievable' and then seeing how Hyper and the rest reacted made him reconsider their level of maturity. Seriously, if this was the level of innocence afforded to the people of Remnant, then the place must be God's Heaven compared to this radioactive hell he called Earth.

"You guys saw nothing!" screamed Jaune, his cheeks redder than the stuttering redhead beside him.

"Sure, we didn't," Blake said with a little smirk.

 _Great. Your goddamn hormones decided to kick in._ The Courier had to take his eyes off them several times. This drama between teenagers was eating away at his patience and he was well into his years to know better. Ignoring the banter, he made his way upstairs to a platform housing a tower of decrepit machinery. A push of a button and fluorescent light flooded this wider cavern.

"Oh. I knew there was a switch around here somewhere."

"Yeah, if you weren't busy—"

"Shut it, Blake!"

Six continued to work his way around this blasted piece of Old World hardware that should control the hydraulic blast doors that sealed this section of the mine...or whatever this was. All these wires, catwalks, and hardware reminded him so much of the Divide. Another military bunker perhaps? His gut said otherwise.

"I knew it! I absolutely knew it! Pyrrha, was he your first?"

"Nora! That's i-inappropriate!"

 _And it just had to be Sparta making the first move. Real smooth, Knight-boy._ The Courier shook his head. He was too old for that crap. The console was far more attractive; the controls should be understandable at this point...

"You...a-and... You and..."

"Um, you okay, Weiss?"

"Pyrrha, I...I, well, you...actually—"

"Everyone, you all saw nothing. Nothing!"

"Keep telling yourself that, Jaune."

He heard scratching and he looked down to see Syrup— _goddamn that little monster—_ fervently clawing against the hydraulic doors. He let his right hand drop to his holster while his left continued to type away at the keyboard.

"Syrup? You smell something, boy?"

"Should we be worried?"

The sound of weapons being drawn echoed back in reply.

"Just in case."

"Something's behind those doors."

"Six—"

"Keep your wits about you, kids!" he yelled, while chancing glances at the doors. _This should do it._ Six saw the klaxon blare full red and heaved on the lever beside the console. The doors hummed and vibrated until they lifted off the ground. A pair of legs were waiting for them on the other side.

"See? I told you it would open by itself."

"Yang?"

"Huh, guess they found us."

"Ren! You're okay! I was really, really, really worried! Look! Syrup was really worried too!"

 _Lucky. Now the whole gang is back together._ The Courier could see the familiar gray metal walls of an old military bunker up ahead. _So much for an unassuming goldmine. Hsu was right. Something's up here._ He could feel something watching them from the dark. And he was sure whatever it was had been keeping a good eye on Blondie and Shaolin. It was no ordinary automated security system. It was something more sentient, more intelligent...more malevolent.

 _Yet, mechanical._

His fingers continued to rest against the handle of his magnum revolver while he leaned over the platform to see the reunited teams RWBY and JNPR getting excited over them crashing in on Sparta kissing Knight-boy.

"Real smooth, Jaune."

"Yang, don't even—"

"So, Pyrrha. You actually went for it this time?"

"Ah, what are you talking about, Ren? Ah, ha-ha, went for what?"

"A~awww, the two lovebirds are shy."

"Yang!"

Six looked back at the dark then at the bickering brats. For good measure, he hacked the terminal and dug as deep as he could into whatever security system was in place here. He could hear gears grinding somewhere behind these walls. He could also hear the light footfalls against the grating.

"You feel it, too?"

The Courier exhaled. _Sneaky, sneaky, eh, Cat-girl._ "About time you noticed."

"It's not...human." Blake's hands were already on the hilt and grip of her weapons. Gamble Shroud, was it? He didn't know.

"Security system is still active. I can't disable it from here." _The mainframe has got to be further in._ The data he managed to salvage from the computer was as confusing as it was alarming. _Shit. This isn't RobCo. I don't recognize this name. U.S. Army prototypes? What the hell is this?_ "I got a feeling we won't be going up against some RobCo scrap metal."

"What do you mean?"

Six shut down the terminal and unslung his repeater. "I mean keep an eye out. We're not alone down here." _What have I gotten these kids into?_

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 9, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 12, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 11, 2018**

 **NOTE: So...trouble. So much for slice of life chapters. This one has gotten rather...deep during the course of writing. Couldn't help it. The ideas just flowed.**

 ** _Review dude:_ That's interesting, actually. The way I see it though is that Pyrrha is very heavily Greek (hoplite; spear; phalanx) than Roman (legionary; sword; maniple) but knowing how Edward Sallow is himself an intellectual and modelled his empire after the Ancient Romans, he would know full well that the Ancient Romans adopted much from the Ancient Greeks. So he'd see Pyrrha as a tool for exerting influence, enforcing authority, and perhaps even as a tool of propaganda to psychologically affect other tribes and enemy powerhouses like the NCR (which probably would not sit well with Pyrrha given her history as an unwilling poster girl). He probably dictates the legion's history and most likely controls their education. Still, thanks for giving me the image of Pyrrha disarming an entire cohort of legionaries with her Semblance. I might work on that some time. :)**

 _ **Blinded in a bolthole:**_ **Interesting perspectives you've brought up. Come to think of it, Qrow would kick the Courier's ass in a straight up fight with his Aura and Semblance. Take them away and they *might* have a stalemate. Or I could "tweak" the Courier... (I might straight-up OP him if I'm just mentally tired.) For Glynda, yeah, she might lose it a bit. Cinder, though... You're right. She might just chip a nail. In the meantime, I developed a scenario where Glynda and Cinder are stuck together somewhere in the Mojave. ;)**

 **Anyway, thanks again for giving this an eye. Hopefully, I can continue to entertain...before my mind frizzles out again.**


	7. Warehouse

**NOTE: Heads up. This chapter is total action/adventure. Next chapter is going to be a bit lighter.**

* * *

"What in the goddamn..."

"This...how did...h-how..."

Six stole a glance behind him and caught the bewilderment shared by the brats, most notably expressed by Weiss. _You know about this, Snowball?_ "Don't tell me this is from Remnant."

"It looks a lot like Atlas technology," Yang mumbled dumbstruck.

 _Atlas?_ "So this is from Remnant," he grumbled.

"Atlas is one of the four kingdoms of Remnant," Blake explained. "So yes, this is...most likely a product of Atlas. Or resembles something they might be working on."

 _Goddamn it. First people, now war machines._ In a swift fluid motion that almost appeared mechanical to the brats, the Courier replaced the standard lead rounds in his repeater with specialized explosive munitions. _Bipedal, two arms fitted with enough firepower to level a house, body of a damn t-rex. With that design, they might be as predictable and vulnerable as deathclaws._ "If that thing comes alive, aim for the legs."

"We know how to deal with this," Ruby addressed with a hint of confidence. Her scythe had already extended to its maximum radius.

"Start dropping hints then," Six said, his eyes never departing the so-far unresponsive mechanical construct before them. "But if it comes alive, you kids know what to do."

"We got you, Six."

"Don't have to tell us twice."

"Don't worry! Just leave the leg-breaking to me."

As expected, the machine came to life. Their presence had already been registered on its sensors. Before it could so much as aim, Six fired the first shot. The explosive round ripped through the steel and tore through its left leg, severely stunting its mobility and forcing it onto the floor. _Just like deathclaws._

The rest was a flurry of movement courtesy of the two teams that reduced the United States Army prototype to scrap metal.

 _Knowing the Old World, there's bound to be more of these in stasis somewhere._ "Stay alert, kids! Expect more of them," the Courier hollered. _Earth borrowing Remnant technology or the other way around?_ He stepped over the disabled deathclaw-like cyborg. _The hell? This...this doesn't look like it's two hundred years old._ "This thing...is too fresh out of the assembly line."

 _So why the hell was it labeled a 'U.S. Army prototype'? Enclave? No. That wouldn't make much sense. Pre-war? Can't be pre-war if it's this clean. What the hell is going on here?_

"You got something, Six?" asked Ruby.

He pointed to the catwalk above them. "Hyper, take your team and give us overwatch."

The little reaper shook her head, her apprehension betraying her nerve.

If only she could see through his closed helmet. _I trust you, Hyper._ "The rest of you, stay close."

* * *

They stumbled into a damn warehouse.

"No," Weiss squeaked. "This...this can't be..."

The supervisor's office had a good view of the elephantine grotto housing three rows of inactive Atlas paladins. Or they somewhat looked like Atlas paladins, or an earlier version of the Remnant cyborg.

Six was sure he heard the brats skip a few heartbeats at seeing something like this. It was nothing new to him though. Besides, the secrets he strove to keep hidden underneath the Lucky 38 were much more alarming to those on the surface. He activated the terminal. "We got a whole platoon down here."

"Weiss, have you come across news of any...recent problems in Atlas?" Pyrrha asked, the worry seeping through her inquiry. "Or perhaps anything significant?"

Snowball shook her head in disbelief. "I...I don't understand... None that I particularly recall. These all look like...previous designs. Look, they arms are different and the pod looks too small to accommodate a person."

"So...are these ours? As in 'made in Remnant' material?" Nora wondered.

"They're all inactive," observed Blake. "Even then, if they really are earlier paladins, then tha makes them mechanized battle suits. They're made to make the basic foot soldier a formidable battlefield weapon."

Ruby nodded. "So without a pilot, they're basically scrap metal."

"I wouldn't bet on that," echoed Six. Teams RWBY and JNPR huddled around the shimmering terminal screen displaying lines of code and text that were either too sophisticated or too minuscule to be decipherable. "These are all automated. They don't need human intervention. All it takes is a power source and these bastards will light up like the Securitrons on the Strip."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jaune looked a little pale. No one could blame him. "You're saying that these paladins...have minds of their own? And they just need new batteries?"

"Pretty much."

A gulp. "Anyway to shut them all down?"

"I'm working on it." He could see the designs now. Whatever these 'paladins' were, they were clearly miles apart in form and function than RobCo's commissions. They rivaled the Securitrons at their best. If his guesses were correct, then that meant that these war machines were designed by Remnant for Remnant. Someone took the time and effort to transport them to Earth and had them refitted to fight on Earth's terms: no Dust, no Aura, no Semblance. Raw science coupled with gunpowder and depleted uranium. "Ah, shit..."

"I'm starting to get a feeling that whenever you say that, something bad is about to happen," remarked Jaune, his sword and shield up in front of his face.

"Jaune, shut up before you jinx—" Yang was cut off by the vibrations caused by over a dozen automated cyborgs coming to life.

By then, Six had been shut out of the terminal by the mainframe's unyielding security system. _That's settled then. These things shouldn't see the light of day._ He dug into his munitions pouches, feeling for the proper tools he needed to put an end to this fight before the entire facility came crashing down over their heads.

"Hyper!" he called out.

Ruby slid up to him with Crescent Rose still tucked behind her waist. "Six?"

The Courier began chambering his repeater with those bullets with red tags on the casings. "Use Crescent Rose."

Hyper blinked. Twice. Three times. Then smiled as the scythe expanded into its fullest form. This was going to be easy.

* * *

Only, it wasn't.

The paladins were absurdly resistant to Dust. Their ammunition tore through their Aura like buzz saws. Their Semblances could only do so much in the face of this much pressure. Oh, and the facility was collapsing, having heard the system announce in its disturbingly monotone robotic voice the countdown sequence.

"Six! We have to get out of here!"

"They're blocking the exit!"

"I don't know if we can smash through!"

The Courier lacked Aura, had no Semblance, and was useless with Dust. But he did have his own skill set that accommodated the lack of those. His eyes took less than a second to note the positions the brats placed themselves in. Teams RWBY and JNPR managed to take down a handful of paladins until the remaining robots displayed their built-in intelligence by regrouping and coming in force.

The brats' formations splintered after that.

"We're stuck!"

"Can't hold this for long!"

"Six!"

 _Nine cyborgs. Close-knit formation._

Hyper was trapped on the catwalk with her sister, with the only option to jump atop the hostile cyborgs. Shaolin, Pancake, and her damn pet were corralled into a room with only the barricade they put up being their only protection from the barrage of lasers tearing into it. Knight-boy, Sparta, and Cat-girl dodged the enfilading fire that was ripping apart the entire complex. Meanwhile, Snowball was trying desperately to maintain a cluster of glyphs to delay their approach.

 _All it takes is at least one..._

"I don't want to die here!"

"SIX!"

He had to wait for the right moment. Nothing was invincible; there was always that opening that he had to look real hard for. A moment later, he saw it. And fired.

 _Time to move._

The explosive round did enough damage to stun the prototype and that's when instincts kicked in.

"Ruby, Yang! Hit 'em from the top! Now!" he boomed.

There was hesitation for a second. Then Crescent Rose and Ember Celica rained down fire into the mass of robots.

"Nora! Blow 'em up! Ren, follow through!"

Shaolin and Pancake burst through the barricade, ripping through the appendages that kept the paladins standing and sending the bulk of them tumbling down. Even the little monster of a pet managed to rip off some exposed wires with its budding maw.

"Pyrrha, two o'clock! Spear 'em! Blake, keep 'em occupied!"

The redhead's javelin had already wound its way into the head of cyborg still standing, knocking out its sensors and sending it toppling onto the other war machines that had been confused by the many illusions of the feline faunus girl.

"Jaune, cover me! Weiss, put one under me now!"

The blonde knight nodded and planted the apex of Crocea Mors into the floor, absorbing the debris and shrapnel sent sputtering their way. A widening glyph glowed beneath them, charging the soles on the Courier's boots before he leapt high above the tumbling paladin prototypes.

Whether it was adrenaline or some break in his psyche, time seemed to slow. Six hovered several feet above the paladins. All eyes followed the round metallic object flying out of his palm, its minuscule red lights flashing...

"Take cover!" was all Six was able to say before lining up his revolver against the EMP mine and squeezing the trigger.

Everything went deafeningly white. For three seconds. And the Atlas paladins were forever still.

* * *

It took a while for Raul to find them. The ghoul managed to assail the rugged cliff face to reach the other side of the mountain where he dropped in on them resting in front of the entrance to a mine-shaft that was already sealed with rubble.

"That was some shit advice, Raul," the Courier snarled gruffly as he dragged himself to rest against a boulder. Everything else hurt from the waist down.

The ghoul snickered, popping open two bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla and handing him the other. "It still worked."

Despite his scowl, Six's nod came with a strong twinge of pride.

"What are you going to tell the NCR now, boss?"

"Cave in."

"You sure they'd buy that?"

"I'd be dead before they catch on." _And the kids would hopefully be back on Remnant or as far away from them as possible by then._ He allowed a mischievous smirk. "Besides, I barely made it out alive."

Raul raised his brow. Then chuckled as he shook his head as he threw a thumb at teams RWBY and JNPR huddled by a campfire they started up. "You still keeping them in the dark over the little _diablos_? They already know."

"Not much."

The ghoul conceded. "You have a point there, boss. I did some digging and the best anyone in the NCR knows about them are their first names."

"And I plan on keeping it that way."

"They really are special to you, huh."

Six exhaled. "I'm not going to even lie to you. Those kids don't deserve to be here. They should be back home. Where they came from. Where they belong."

"Boss, you can't regain innocence—"

"I know that. I don't want them turning up in Remnant like us. I don't want them having shit like this hanging over their heads."

Raul chuckled lightly. "You're right. We both deserve to burn."

A long sigh. The Courier leaned his head against the rock, eyelids finally shutting. "I don't know how the hell they wound up here but when I found them... I'm going to find a way to send them back. Or maybe watch over 'em before they, I don't know, disappear. I just don't want to find a mass grave filled with kids again."

"Boss..."

If there was one word the ghoul could use to describe the voice that he heard, it was tired. Very tired. "Scouted Arizona last week. Mass grave east of the promontory. Lots of dead on both sides of the highway."

Raul exhaled, his peeling face grim. "Who were they fighting?"

"It wasn't a battle, Raul. They were marching south. Those bodies I found... They were slaves and their families, the sick, the elderly...anyone who couldn't keep up the pace."

"Does the NCR know this?"

"They won't do anything about it, anyway." Six grimaced as he raised a sluggish arm against his ears. "Damn EMP might've given me tinnitus."

The ghoul stared at him, fully aware of the attentive dark-haired girl with the cat ears crouched behind the rock spire to their right. He continued to pretend to being oblivious about. Besides, the Courier was probably doing the same thing.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 12, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 19, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 16, 2018**

 **NOTE: Now that they're out of danger (for now), it's back to the lighter day to day. Hopefully, more shenanigans and more painful migraines because the Courier's agony is entertaining.**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **Man, you keep coming up with some usable scenarios. I'll see if I can churn something out with that Lake Mead idea. Thanks again!**


	8. Advice

**NOTE: Brace yourselves for Jaune's rambling.**

* * *

The peaceful solitude afforded by the Lucky 38's immensely wide cocktail lounge was interrupted by the ding of the elevator and footfalls rubbing against the carpets.

"Six! There you are! I really needed to talk to you about something...important."

"Hnn...?" The Courier angled his head to glare at the blurry form that dared to disturb his quality drinking time.

Jaune slid onto the stool next to him, shuffling and fidgeting like a drenched kitten. "I'm in a bit of a...predicament. Or a bind. I don't know. I'm stuck in a pickle is what I'm trying to say."

The Courier blinked, trying so hard to forget the boy's presence and register his every word at the same time. As much as he wanted to, he was too drunk to make any effort to dispose of him.

"You know...I think you know. It might be pretty obvious, heh, given your experience in this stuff. Right? Um..." The blonde scratched the back of his head. "I guess you could say that I have a crush on Weiss."

 _Snowball? She giving you a hard-on?_ wondered his drunken brain.

"I've been trying to, you know, deepen our friendship since we first met. Well, back on Remnant, of course. We go way back. I mean, not way, way, _way_ back but to the first day at Beacon. First day of classes and all. So...she's been, um, living up to her monicker, heh. You know... 'Ice Queen'... Um, I haven't given up. And I think she's been warming up to me recently. I think. I can't tell, honestly."

Six raised his brow, squinting his eyes at him as he half-heartedly tried to understand what he was saying. Even the words he heard in his brain came out slow and slurred. _You want to fuck Snowball?_

"But that's not the problem here." The boy was too finicky, laughing shakily at himself and muttering phrases to keep up his confidence. "I just want her to...be less cold, you know? I mean, is that so hard to ask from her? Ruby likes me. I mean, as a friend, of course! She's like a sister to me. A sister from another mother, yeah!"

 _You want to fuck your sister? What the fuck—_ Wait. Did the elevator ding again? _Shit. I'm hearing things._

"Six, I want to get your opinion on this. It's not about Weiss—okay, so it is about Weiss—but on someone else too."

 _Weird. Could've sworn I saw Snowball walk in. How deep in the bottle am I?_ The Courier could barely tell. The throbbing in his temples concerned him more.

"You know Pyrrha, right? Of course, you do. You keep calling her Sparta. What does Sparta mean, anyway? Is it some kind of Earth compliment or something? Not that I think you're demeaning her but it would kind of suck if that was the case. I mean, she's family. And as the team leader of JNPR, I will _not_ stand for any insult directed at my partner or any of my team members! Not that I think you're insulting them but, well, you're...uh...never mind."

 _So you want to fuck Sparta too?_ Six blinked, reaching a sloppy hand to wipe away the grime obscuring his vision. _Wait. I'm pretty damn sure I just saw Sparta over there next to Snowball. What's with that weird look on her face?_

"I know I can be dense sometimes. Hell, I don't need Nora screeching into my ear or Ren saying something vague every now and then. I've got enough of that from my sisters. But I've noticed how...weird Pyrrha's been acting around me, you know? Ah, who am I kidding... You've seen it. You walked in on it. And I reiterate that _she_ initiated the kiss! I was just reacting to it."

The Courier groaned, his frustration directed more at his hangover than at the blurry figures that were congregating at the far end of the bar. _Ah, damn. Now I'm seeing Blondie and Hyper. Alcohol's getting to my brain. Got to lay off the sauce next time._

"And...I sort of, well... Don't tell anybody about this, okay? I sort of, kinda, really, really liked it. I never actually thought Pyrrha felt that way about me. It was shocking, to put it lightly. But it opened my eyes. Or, my eyes were open. Uh, what I meant to say was that...it got me thinking."

The veteran wastelander burped then slumped back into his arms, his cracked eyes trying to focus on the group of girls standing not too far behind the bumbling teen beside him. _Are they even real? They looking fucking real._

"Now, I'm conflicted. I really, really want to open up with Weiss. I mean, she may not like me that way and I get that. I still want to be a better friend to her, you know? I believe that underneath that posh exterior, there's a modest girl who wants to get out of her heiress lifestyle. At this point, I'd rather be a guy friend who'd be willing to listen to all her woes and at least _try_ to understand her problems. Not like those jerks who just want to get with someone because they've got connections or they're really well off and that stuff... Those guys get on my nerves, really."

Six angled his head only to feel a needle of pain spear through the side of his head. _Goddamn migraines._ Now the girls were looking conflicted. _Yeah. They look really real._

"Then...after what happened in the mines... I feel like I've been neglecting someone so close to me this whole time." Jaune dropped his head into his hands, moaning. "I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot! How did I not see the signs? Weiss kept shooting me down but Pyrrha was there right beside me, giving me all her support...even though it hurt her."

 _Hurt her? You popped her cherry? Shit, already? I mean, that shit hurts for women... Wait. Whose cherry?_ This was getting confusing, compounding the stressed neurons in Six's brain.

"This whole time, Pyrrha was... I mean... I'm her partner. We're partners! Was I that dense? Oh man, I feel like a big jerk. To be honest with you, Six, I really like Pyrrha, too. She's...been more than a friend to me for the past couple months." Knight-boy flashed this look of momentary panic as if he had reached some sort of traumatic epiphany. "Six, I just realized... I think I might feel the same way towards Pyrrha. Aw, crap. I screwed up! I'm screwing up!"

 _What the flying fuck are you going on about now, Knight-boy?_ All the Courier could piece together from the poor kid's rambling was Snowball, yadda-yadda, Sparta, yadda-yadda, I like them, yadda-yadda...

"I'm stuck. Weiss has been, well, more open recently and that's, like, a major milestone! But I just can't...go on knowing that I'm ripping apart someone else's heart." A sigh. "Ugh. That last line was cheesy. You know what I mean, right, Six?"

The Courier reached for another bottle across the bar. _Need a refill._

"I mean...don't you think? What do you think? Should I keep trying for Weiss or should I maybe let Pyrrha speak her mind? You know, clear the air."

Six popped the cork and poured himself a full glass, downing it, then slurring, "Snowball and Sparta, right?"

Jaune probably thought he had been paying attention because his eyes lit up and his hands were everywhere. The poor kid was on the verge of a panic attack. "I know, right? Should I go for Weiss or answer Pyrrha? Weiss or Pyrrha? I mean, oh no...I... Weiss or Pyrrha!?"

He stared at him from his spot on the bar, his bloodshot eyes boring deep holes into the poor knight's soul. He sighed and clapped his hand on his shoulder. "Boy..."

Jaune stilled as eyes went wide with anticipation. Along with the four girls silently watching them with rapt attention from the far back.

"...I am too old for that shit."

With that, the Courier slid the blonde Huntsman-in-training a shot glass and a bottle of vodka before picking up his canteen still sloshing with liquor and stumbling to the elevator, passing by a conflicted Weiss, a blushing Pyrrha, a grinning Yang, and an awkward Ruby.

"Move, kids."

"Kids?" Jaune turned on his stool only to freeze up. "You were there the whole time!?"

"Wow, Jaune," whistled Yang. "Didn't know you were having a relationship crisis."

Things loudly escalated from there. Six pressed himself against the wall until the elevator doors closed, shutting out the noise. _Is it hormone season for these kids? What the hell. I need an aspirin or seven right about now._ He hoped they wouldn't break anything. Or blow up the Lucky 38. Both were likely to happen.

* * *

Blake was the only occupant he found in the presidential suite, lounging on the sofa reading an unburnt history book that she found in some ruin.

"Where's Shaolin and Pancake?"

"Went for a walk with Syrup."

 _Goddamn it._ Six groaned as he sat back down across from her, his fingers crushing circles against his temples. His hangover had gotten worse all of a sudden. Two ridiculously destructive teens walking a domesticated infant deathclaw in a public sidewalk on the Strip without (his) proper supervision was guaranteed to end in disaster. _All it takes is one finicky son of a bitch to put one through that little fucker and Pancake is going to go berserk. Total costs are going to range in the_ tens _of thousands—_

"You don't have to worry about us so much," Cat-girl remarked.

The Courier raised his brow at her. "Come again?"

Without so much as taking her eyes off her reading material, she continued, "We're old enough to handle ourselves. You don't have to worry about finding us in a mass grave."

 _You sly cat._ He chuckled and tilted his head at her; his amusement met her confusion. "You honestly think I'm that paranoid?"

"Yes."

"Fair enough judgment."

"... How bad is the Legion?"

Six sighed. Her book had been set aside for him to receive her full attention. "You already know."

"Slavery?"

He nodded. "Slavery. A despotic empire of pure misogyny where the word of a single man is held as divine and absolute." He caught the twitch in the corner of her eye and held back a beguiled grin. "You're lucky you kids didn't get dropped in Arizona. Even with your Dust and Semblances, I doubt you could hold off the full tide of the Legion before they slap their collars on your necks and force you to cart their goods like donkeys. Because that's what women are to the Legion. Nothing more than something to scratch their dicks with."

Blake's fists were clenched and pale but her voice was calm and controlled. "You make them sound worse than what everyone else says."

"Yeah. Much worse than the White Fang."

Her eyes shot up, darting to his knowing mug. She was already in front of his face, a full range of emotions flashing through her piercing gold irises. "How did you..."

Six watched his shake sludge around in his glass. _Gotcha, kitty._ "You mumble in your sleep." He chuckled at her reddening cheeks as she deflated back onto the couch. "Word of advice, kid: eat less before you sleep. The more you munch down, the more you sleep talk."

Blake fell back onto the sofa for the next five minutes. Her head dipped, her eyes lost to the patterns of the carpet on the floor, her mind wandering back to memories she tried so hard to suppress.

In that time, Six had gone to the kitchen and whipped himself up a non-alcoholic beverage to help kill his hangover. He walked back into the recreational hall and surprised her by sitting beside her, chancing slurps from his glass. "Adam Taurus. I take it he's a bull."

Cat-girl was now glaring daggers. "He has a dominant bovine heritage."

 _So he's a bull. 'Taurus' pretty much gave that away._ Six briefly reciprocated hers with a nonchalant stare. His brain was starting to hurt less, which was good. _Should make more of these smoothies. Better stock up on banana yucca._ "The way you talk about him in your sleep makes him a perfect poster boy for the Legion. Horns and all."

"You ever think about the people you killed?" she nearly flared.

 _So this is where we're going, now._ "No."

That answer seemed to surprise her because he heard her neck crack when she snapped her head at him. "No?"

"No."

Silence. Then a more aggressive inquiry. "Have you ever considered that these people...have others who cared about them?"

"Yes," he deadpanned.

She blinked. "Then...why...?"

"Blake." Six put down his glass and faced her completely. "Don't be like me. Please. I don't know what this White Fang business is all about but from what I've gleaned... You've left behind a world of hurt to build a world of healing. I mean, that's what you hunting-folk do, don't you? That's what they teach on Remnant, right? Serve and protect and all that?"

Her face was as solid as stone.

"Well, let me fill you in. You're not on Remnant now. I know you miss it; homesick folks tend to walk and talk in their sleep...well, as far as I've seen, anyway." He tapped her shoulder. "You're playing by Earth's terms now. There's neither time nor room for sentimentality here in the wasteland."

Her voice was soft. "Do you ever feel guilty, Six?"

He was quiet for a long moment but his weighted pupils studied every detail of her expression. "Sometimes."

"Is that why you drink?"

"I have my reasons."

"You know, you have a reputation. It's hard to ignore. I mean...I can understand why you're not proud of some of the things you did. Or, what they say you did." Blake studied him only to find a blank expression. "I'm sorry if I..."

The Courier tittered. "It's fine, Blake." He raised his brow at her when he felt her hand rest over his palm. "I won't blame you for being curious."

"... Thank you for trusting us."

"... You're welcome."

"So...how's that hangover?"

Six leaned against the cushion of the couch. "I thought you and Shaolin were the quiet ones. You've been very talkative today, you know that?"

"This is just one of those instances..." Blake brought her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Six, we really appreciate all that you're doing for us. Ruby shows it. She looks up to you. And Jaune, he's also taking after you."

 _Well, I'm fucking flattered._ He smirked. "So they'll be drinking with me in a couple weeks, eh?"

Cat-girl chortled softly. "We'll rein them in. You worry about Yang trying to outdrink you again. You two brawling is kinda stressful."

 _I'm can't believe I even agreed to be her punching bag in the first place._ "She fractures my chin, I'll fracture her forearm." _And no amount of Aura is going to heal all those broken bones._ He offered her his glass. "You want a smoothie?"

"No thanks," she answered with a bright and relieved smile.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 14, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 19, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 19, 2018**

 **NOTE: So...I got carried away and ended up with this. Hope you guys find it suitable (or at least entertaining) while I work on the next chapters. I dunno.**

 ** _Review dude:_ I agree with you almost entirely about the NCR. While they are the best (or most altruistic) option for the Mojave (in my opinion), they are as flawed as the pre-war government they modeled themselves after. Despite their advantages and successes, they are stretched to their limit and their taxation is already alienating potential supporters regardless of the quirks of being under their flag. Also, their leadership is deleteriously hawkish. The game even highlights (several times) the NCR's inability to act beyond the Mojave; they've bled themselves so much trying to maintain their holdings against dissidents, raiders, mutants, the Legion, and in-fighting that any more offensives into Arizona, Texas, or even the rest of Nevada would be pyrrhic if not disastrous for them. As for the Courier's animosity towards the NCR, well...he has his reasons. ;)**


	9. Earning Keep

Six didn't know whether to be anxious or amused with what he found outside the very doors of the Lucky 38. Down on the steps was a crowd of tourists, off-duty soldiers, and MPs huddled around Shaolin and Pancake. Or more specifically, the little devil Syrup. Pancake's wrist was cuffed to a thick chain that ended on a bright red shock-collar around the infant deathclaw's neck.

"Step right up, folks! Pet the deathclaw! A once in a lifetime experience!" pitched Nora as Ren stood stoic across from her with a flipped Stetson hat already filling up with caps and NCR bills.

"That...thing isn't going to bite, right?" asked a nervous onlooker.

"Only if you have meat on your hands," Pancake winked.

"How'd you tame it?" another wondered.

"It's a secret," teased the bubbly teen.

"Probably fake. Got to be a robot with some good latex and silicone," an MP muttered.

The Courier settled to being bewildered as he descended onto the street. "What in the goddamn...?"

Nora nearly gave him a hug. "Oh, hey, Six!"

The sudden influx of gazes coupled with the disruptive silence was uncomfortable enough—the Courier often loathed the attention his reputation heaped upon him. Everyone except for a few MPs wisely took several steps back. At least they were smart enough to recognize the real power-players in this place.

Pancake exaggerated her faux disappointment. "Six, how could you!? You're scaring my customers!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Earning our keep," replied Ren, showing him the money in the hat. He leaned in slightly to quietly add, "So you won't have to pay for bribes anymore."

"Shut up, Shaolin."

"Excuse me. Mind if we take a photo?" asked a woman in a bright orange summer dress. Her partner in the wooly cardigan carefully meandered over with a camera ready.

"Sure!" burst Nora.

Six let himself be shooed to the side while the bubbly ginger teen positioned Syrup between the two Californian tourists. The flash from the camera almost made him reach for his sidearm; deathclaws were known to react to sudden stimuli and flashing lights were one of them. To his surprise, however, Syrup was as docile as the Sphinx...assuming that it was still standing for the past two hundred years. A few shots later and Pancake was three hundred NCR dollars richer. _Three hundred NCR dollars..._

"Um, sir... You're not going to stop this?" whispered an MP.

"I don't care anymore," the Courier defeatedly mumbled back.

* * *

 _Trust the kids. Trust the kids. Trust the kids not to burn down the goddamn tower._ The Courier took a deep breath before bellowing, "I'm heading out, kids!" _Damn it, I sound too damn old._

Hyper was in his face the instant the last word left his lips. Jittery excitement screamed out of those wide silver pupils that it was hard not to fold to her demands. Good thing he drank just enough to shut her down. And push her head away from his nose. "But, Si~ix!"

"No, Hyper. You and everyone else are staying here." He tapped the frame of the Securitron next to him as the brats slowly gathered in reception. "Victor'll keep a close eye on you and he _will_ drag your asses back here the moment you step out of line!"

The rest of the brats (sans Hyper) strangely took it well.

"You won't have to worry about us, Six."

"Yeah. We got everything under control."

"I'll go make pancakes."

 _Huh. Why do I have a feeling that something's going to go horribly wrong the moment I step into the elevator?_ Six shook the apprehension out of his head even his though his gut was screaming like a banshee. _Nah. Just the sauce talking. Better go before—_

BOOM!

Snowball shrieked from the showers. Everyone else had to help Nora restrain Syrup from tearing through the walls to get to the 'emergency' while muscling to the lavatory. Victor turned to the Courier with that stupid fucking cowboy smile.

 _Don't you say a single word, Vic—_

"You want a go back up for a drink?" the Securitron chirped.

 _Goddamn it._ "Shut up, Victor."

* * *

"Are you kidding me, Ice Queen!?"

"Do I look like I'm humoring anyone!?" screamed a drenched, flustered, and obviously underdressed Weiss who was wrapped in ripped a shower curtain. The showers themselves were encased in a thin chamber of ice. Several of the brats' clothes could be seen floating in and around the flood of water rising out of the severed drainage pipes angled out of the shower floors.

"You had one job, Weiss!"

"Now what are we supposed to wear!?"

"Well, it could be worse..."

 _How the fuck..._ Six gawked. He didn't notice it but Pyrrha was worriedly nudging him about his involuntary eye twitching. "Snowball. Were you doing laundry...in the shower...while showering?" _What kind of logic is that? How does_ that _lead to_ this _!? How the fuck do you rip out the drainage while washing clothes_ and _yourself? Just how!?_

"Uh-oh." Jaune nervously chuckled. "You know, Six, we couldn't find any, um, good places to do laundry. So..."

"I guess this just proves that Weiss doesn't do her own chores—"

"Excuse me, Ren!" Snowball angrily screamed, the curtain crumpling in her grip. "I'll have you know that—"

"You have butlers that do everything for you," completed a smirking Blake.

"Especially her 'cake butler,'" mused Ruby.

"Yeah. 'Cause she's an heiress with like a hundred servants," added Yang.

"On the bright side, we could always go dry cleaning," suggested Pyrrha.

Ren balked. "Pyrrha, you do know that most of our clothes aren't fit for dry cleaning, right?"

"Dry cleaning is still cleaning, Renny. Besides, we could always go to Freeside where it's cheaper." Nora bent down to rub at Syrup's chin. "And buy you some treats along the way! Isn't that right, Syrup? Yes, it is. Yes, it is. And maybe even get you a bath!"

"You can always fix it," hooted Victor from reception.

 _I'm surrounded by idiots._ The Courier sat back down to massage his temples. It amazed him how the brats were able to break something that was the least likeliest to be broken, let alone something he never thought could be broken. That and he was equally frustrated that he would have to deal with this mess because Lord knows these brats wouldn't. "Hyper, get me my tool kit. And Snowball...put some goddamn clothes on."

"I don't think she has anything clean to wear," Blondie snickered.

"I don't think any of us have anything clean to use right now," mulled Shaolin.

"I wonder why," echoed Cat-girl, a taunting smile creeping on the edge of her cheek while Weiss merely flushed with fury.

Ruby burst back into the room in a flurry of rose petals, dropping Six's toolbox next to him, and raised her hand. "I call a vote! Anyone in favor of banning Weiss from laundry duty, say 'aye.'"

Everyone else (including Snowball) raised their palms.

"Anyone in favor of teaching Weiss _how_ to do laundry, say 'aye.'"

"Hey!" Alas, everyone (except Snowball) raised their palms.

"So who's going to teach her?"

Jaune squeaked. Then stumbled in front of Weiss, very nearly ripping the curtain off her hands. Behind him, Yang whistled a merry tune.

" _Eep_! I refuse to be taught by—"

"Too late," Blondie snickered. Then her eyes suddenly lit up as a thought crossed her mind, a flashy grin morphing on the edges of her cheeks. "Now that we don't have anything remotely clean... Does that mean we're going to have to go shopping? We don't have much of a wardrobe, after all."

Hyper and Pancake suddenly flanked Six, prodding him on his shoulders and arms with hungry grins while Syrup breathed eagerly against his leg. _Great. Five hundred caps on new clothes, a thousand on laundry, and six hours to fix the goddamn plumbing._ The Courier had barely set foot outside the Lucky 38 and he was already feeling exhausted. _Goddamn it, kids._

* * *

"I'm bo~ored..." Ruby drawled.

In the back of the recreation room, Yang leaped from her chair with a fist pumped in victory. "Hah! I win, four to one!"

"Argh! You just got lucky," Nora drawled, the cards flopping from her hands while Syrup lapped at her legs.

"You were just throwing out cards," Ren corrected. "You do remember the rules, right?"

"You guys still playing Caravan?" the reaper asked, dragging her legs towards one of their table.

Yang beamed. "Yep. Too bad no one was betting."

"We are not going to gamble away our earnings, Yang," reiterated Ren.

"Aww, come on. Take some risks! Makes everything worth it. Besides, with my luck and your earnings, we could've been rich enough to buy us all tickets to the Aces Theater!"

"Do they have any other better acts?" huffed Weiss from across the room, her body framed over the recliner with a book on the recent history of the United States resting in her grip. "That 'comedian' has horrible humor."

"Dark humor is still humor, Ice Queen."

"Of course. Leave it to Yang to find death funny," the heiress muttered.

"How long did Six say he was going to be gone for again?"

"Three days," Blake replied, herself engrossed with a weathered tome.

"Say, anybody know where Jaune went?" Ruby asked as she took her place across from Ren with a full hand of cards.

It was hard not to notice the naughty glint in Yang's eyes, much less the mischief dripping from her tone. "He's having some alone time with Cereal Girl down at the Strip."

"She muscled Swank into locking them alone in a room together at the Tops," corrected Ren.

The reaper scrunched her brow. "I thought we weren't supposed to leave the Lucky 38."

"Actually, we weren't supposed to leave the Lucky 38 without proper supervision," said Nora as her lips curled into a smile. "And Victor is an AI so he can basically jump to any Securitron on the Strip so~o..."

Her partner sighed. "No, Nora. We're not going out for another walk."

"But Renny~!"

Ruby tapped the hammer-wielder as she pressed the infant deathclaw against her chest. "Don't worry, Nora. After this round of Caravan, we can all go down to the Strip with Syrup!"

"And visit the Kings."

"Yeah, the Kings are so cool!"

"You're turn, Ruby."

"So, Weiss," Yang began, sidling next to the heiress on the recliner. "How're you dealing with being jelly?"

Weiss dropped her book, revealing a distasteful scowl. "For the record, I am not envious in any way. Also, as a friend, I am supportive of their relationship. Especially now that the buffoon won't be pestering me anymore."

"Aww, it's okay, Ice Queen. Denial is the first stage of grief, after all."

The heiress scowled even more. "I am _not_ in denial."

"Admit it. Jaune's pretty good at getting rid of those stains on your combat skirt. He was really hands on, eh?"

Weiss groaned. "You're insufferable."

All the while, Blake kept trying to mentally convince herself that some of the rumors about the Courier weren't true. It wouldn't be surprising that some of his enemies would claim that he's hiding an army of Atlas-like robots somewhere, waiting for the right time to strike at the NCR and seize New Vegas for himself. Six did not come off as the type of person who would actually go for that. At least, that's what she believed.

* * *

"Did you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"No. Nor do I care. The mine is gone, anyway."

Hsu was as calm as ever but the fire behind his nonchalance burned clear. "You're treading on a minefield. Boyd and Crocker can't be bought out forever."

"And what about you, colonel?" jabbed Six. "I'm just returning the money your government keeps sinking into this place." _After all, it's a big cycle of cash flow that 'helps' everyone, don't you think? Besides, half the grunts on the frontier haven't got their paychecks yet. Not like they'll be able to spend them._

"Moore is breathing down my neck. That's all you need to know."

The Courier smirked. "It might interest her to know that the Legion's marching south down Arizona."

The NCR colonel raised a brow at that. "Can you prove that?"

"Ask First Recon to track the body trail." He turned to leave the office. "Who knows? They might find something big."

"... Like a gateway to Remnant? That place sounds like a paradise compared to the Mojave, don't you think?"

Six paused in his stride, his fingers stopping short of knob on the door. _You son of a bitch._ "Good thing Oliver ain't here to drool over it."

"Six, I'm asking you to reconsider your options. We're neither blind nor stupid." Hsu was already standing up from his chair and by the looks of it, one of his fists was clenched. "I trust you to be sane enough to think things through. Don't think that those teens you're sheltering are none of our concern."

The Courier stepped away from the door to face the officer. He couldn't feel the deep scowl he was giving but was he was aware of the sudden hostility in the atmosphere. "They have nothing to worry about. And neither do you." _Back off._

Hsu was unfazed. That or he had a strong pokerface. "Moore and I know about Remnant."

 _Oh? Humor me then._ "Sounds like some fortified scavenger camp."

"It's not that hard to piece together. Eight teens who can defy the laws of physics? We can't ignore that."

Six bared his teeth in an uneven grin, his head nodding slightly. _So be it._ "Congratulations, colonel. I'll be sure to commend your intelligence division for their efforts. I'll also send Moore my regards. Have a nice day."

"Six—"

The Courier turned on his heels and left his office. As expected, the colonel did nothing to stop him.

* * *

Three days later, Hsu received the dispatch relaying his promotion to brigadier general in light of Moore's sudden recall to California to tackle certain long-standing 'issues' that had only recently surfaced. Lieutenant Carrie Boyd was the first to raise the dubious context behind it.

"We're all guilty of war crimes but money laundering? Really?" she huffed. "And slandering the head of state? Not even the president would believe that. I know you know that Six is up to something."

"Can we prove that he's involved?"

Boyd clicked her tongue. "If you squint hard enough, you'll see he left a couple hints. They all say the same thing: 'back off.'"

"... Any leverage?"

"We got nothing solid. The bastard's good at covering his tracks. Even Contreras is in the dark and he's his go-to guy. Those kids he's been taking care of though..."

Hsu's face radiated caution and apprehension. "Lieutenant."

Boyd raised her hands. "I'm not that desperate. And you know we have laws against that. But if push comes to shove..."

"We will _not_ pursue that option, lieutenant."

"Acknowledged, _general_."

For the first time in a long time, the normally nonchalant officer let his emotions slip through his facade. It was going to take some time to acclimate to his new rank and title.

* * *

Freeside was the same as always. The only difference though was the massive blaze eating up one of the decrepit apartments, illuminating the late evening sky. The squatters had long since dispersed with the Kings responding to the scene and the Followers taking in the wounded. When asked, they shrugged and told him it was an accident—gas leak or something along those lines.

The Courier easily saw through the lie. "What did they do?" he pressed.

The unfortunate King member ruffled the back of his head, his pompadour slightly bending from the stress of the few hours. "You can't blame 'em, really... They meant well."

A sigh. "Come on, man. What did they do?"

"You won't get mad at 'em?"

 _A bit._ "No."

"They were helping a bunch of girls weasel out of Gomorrah. Apparently, the Omertas followed them and...they kind of went overboard."

 _God-fucking-damn it. Going to have to shoot a bunch of mobsters now._ "What happened to the girls?"

"They're at the Old Mormon Fort."

"And the Omertas?"

"Also at the Old Mormon Fort."

 _Of course. There's only one functioning hospital in this entire goddamn rubble of a community._ "Why not kill 'em?"

"We couldn't. Ruby talked us out of it. And she...sort of...was right. We shouldn't be killing each other like this. We should be working together. I don't think those mobsters bought it though but she has a point."

 _The kids can carve up mutants in the blink of an eye but can't bring themselves to do the same to humans. Oh, the irony in that._ "Sounds fair."

The amiable gangster then tried to placate whatever wrath he thought he was spewing. "They were doing good, actually. Freeing those poor girls. I mean, it wasn't their first choice...working at Gomorrah. But they did good! Even offered to pay for the detoxing. Pretty cool. And cute."

Six eyed him.

"Uh, forget I said that..."

 _Going to have to get used to these punks hitting on the kids._ The Courier waved him off, making a complete turn in the direction of the Old Mormon Fort. "Yeah, sure." _Now, for a little chat with those goons._

Suffice to say, the Omerta hit men, their pockets lined with cash, returned to their Gomorrah bosses with a neatly-crafted, well-rehearsed, and very convincing lie while the liberated hostesses were escorted by a squadron of rangers back to California.

* * *

The situation at the Strip was not as bad. Everything seemed normal. Up until an MP lieutenant jogged towards him looking a little concerned. And exhausted. With a strangely opportunistic glint in his eye.

"Sir!"

Six stifled a groan. "Yes?"

There was the sly grin he was expecting. It lasted barely three seconds but it was enough to set the tone of their conversation. "That'll be eight hundred dollars for damages."

The Courier angled his head behind him to take a good long look at the group of sobered-up drunks shivering while Securitrons and MPs melted the solid ice that cemented their lower body to the concrete. He growled as he handed the enforcer eight NCR bills.

"Oh, and throw in another six hundred for our...sudden amnesia."

 _I get it. Don't wink at me, you greedy son of a bitch._ "Any other 'incidences,' officer?"

"Yeah. But they covered for themselves," the MP replied as he slickly pocketed the cash.

 _Who?_ "Come again?"

"Yeah, that weird Asian guy and his crazy girlfriend with the pet deathclaw. They went to the embassy, had a little chat with the ambassador, and now we get a cut of their earnings to cover up the...unsanctioned stuff...they do on the Strip. Win-win situation, am I right?" The MP's cheshire grin lasted five seconds before shifting into a professional scowl as he turned on his heels to yell back at his subordinates.

 _Corruption goes both ways._ As much as he relished in fostering this culture among the NCR's "incorruptible" military police force, he was beginning to regret going overboard with the frequent bribes and cloak-and-dagger business. _Need to keep a closer eye on some of these bastards._ At least the Securitrons didn't demand compensation for having their data banks rewritten.

* * *

It was close to three in the morning when the Courier arrived back at the presidential suite. Most of the kids were already asleep. _Most. And it just had to be her. Why am I not surprised._

He sighed. "Yes, Blake?"

Cat-girl emerged from the kitchen in a black silken nightgown, a glass of water in one hand while a fresh book was tucked under the other. "Brigadier General Cassandra Moore is facing serious charges of corruption and treason. Colonel James Hsu has been promoted in her stead and is set to replace her as the commander of all NCR forces in the entire Mojave. So says Mister New Vegas."

"So I've heard."

Blake blocked the way to the master bedroom. "Six, what did you do?"

The light from his Pip-boy revealed her teammates haphazardly sprawled over his bed, snoozing peacefully. _Exposed a war criminal._ "Went to the frontier."

"And?"

 _Had a nice chat with the NCR doves over the wire._ "Scouted."

"And what did you see?"

 _Moore seething in front of a battalion of MPs._ "I'm not taking you there, anyway," he said, brushing her off as he turned on his heels for the kitchen. She followed him anyway.

"What's stopping us from going there on our own?"

Six let out a long sigh as he poured himself a full cup of Jake Juice. "You want to go die out there? Be my guest."

"Did you bribe Hsu to go along with your plan?"

 _Kitty's a damn good lie detector, I'll give her that. Probably a faunus thing._ "Nice nightie. Must've been a bargain purchase at Mick and Ralph's, huh."

"Six."

 _Enough, Blake. I'm tired._ "Go to bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

Cat-girl folded her arms. Her piercing gold irises flashed with a fiery intensity. "Ren and Nora struck a deal with Ambassador Crocker. You and I both know that what they did was wrong."

 _So?_ "They're earning their keep."

"Through bribery? Deceit? They didn't want to but they _had_ to."

 _Your point?_ "I can't cover for you forever. About time you kids helped pay the damn 'bills.'"

Disappointment. Then anger. And finally contempt. "I guess some of the rumors are true. We really shouldn't be like you," she hissed.

"Exactly. Now go back to sleep," he growled.

She stood there, glaring for a while, before she finally relented and shut the door to the master bedroom.

"Goddamn it, Blake." _You don't know what you're asking. Earth is not for you._

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 20, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: February 24, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: February 24, 2018**

 **NOTE: Well, money makes for some nice elbow grease to keep the gears turning, no?**

 **A public works contractor tried to bribe my dad once. His workers chipped into the property and the bastard had the gall to offer my dad a 'little' cash incentive. My old man didn't take it but he didn't talk about it either.**

 _ **Self-governance:**_ **With regards to the Legion's social hierarchy, I had never thought of that (it _has_ been awhile since I did play the game). Even the soldiers are themselves slaves. That's interesting. As for the NCR, I can see what you mean. The NCR ending makes you think if it was really worth it for the Republic. Thanks for that. I had never really considered going that deep with the endings (I didn't even know that they conscripted as early as sixteen). Though, when I last played the game, I was more concerned about the Mojave's future, not the NCR. But now that you brought that up, it makes the other endings (House and independence) more appealing.**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **Yes. Six is indeed stacking the cards in his favour but not exactly for those reasons. And the setting for this fic takes place after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, when things had calmed down a bit. Also, with regards to the independent Vegas ending, I recently noticed how dangerously fickle that would leave the Mojave. Come to think of it, the independence ending means the Courier lets go of the reins and lets nature take its course (like letting the world burn for all he cares as long as no one is lording over the other) in contrast to the more popular assumption that the Courier ends up on top as the new leader/overlord of New Vegas. If I were to forgo the NCR option, I'd settle for House. While he may be a deluded, despotic genius, he's still a power figure that can keep order in the Mojave on the same scale as the NCR and the Legion. And I personally prefer order over anarchy. Again, that's just me. :)**

 **That Qrow scenario though... That might work. :D**


	10. Target Practice

"Alright, Sparta. Your call."

Beside him, Pyrrha pressed her cheek against the groove of her weapon: a mechanical hybrid that morphed between a spear and a rifle. The stillness of the air, coupled with the absence of nary a breeze, made her steady breaths ridiculously audible high up here.

Six kept his eyes glued to his binoculars, magnifying his view of the ten steel targets he had set up across the side of the rugged cliff face half a mile away. Both had their bellies pressed against the gravel atop one of the many abandoned sniper's nests overlooking the vast expanse of desert this side of the Mojave. If there was one thing he could do to help these kids survive in the wasteland (other than making them stomach the natural cuisine and go more than a day without bathing, both of which ended disappointingly), it was helping them improve their Remnant fighting capabilities with respect to Earth's rules.

This was one particular exercise. While seemingly ridiculous with regards to the person he was 'training,' it was not impossible. The redhead had good aim—it was just a matter of tweaking it further. And if he himself could nail a shot at this distance with Medicine Stick, then he was sure Sparta could land—

POP!

Ping!

The Courier couldn't help but smile. _Just below the chin._ "Impressive."

Another steady breath is what he got in reply.

POP! POP! POP!

Ping! Ping! Pla-kang!

 _Damn. She's good._ "You're not using your Aura or anything, right?"

Sparta briefly angled her head away from the end of her gun to flash him a meek (if not deceptively prideful) grin. "No."

 _I find that hard to believe._ "Remnant must really be something if you're this good for your age."

"A lifetime of training and tournaments," she hastily replied, her focus now on the remaining six shaped metal sheets sticking out of the rocks five hundred meters away.

"Before Beacon?"

"Yes."

POP!

Pang!

"Got 'em," Six acknowledged pridefully. _She's giving First Recon a run for their money._ He had to admit, this level of accuracy was enough of a challenge for his own skill set. Sparta was proving more and more adept at marksmanship than he had initially judged. Now he just had to get her accustomed to killing people...

 _No. She's too good for this place. The brats are too good for the wasteland. No. Not just yet..._

The Courier cleared his throat as he cleared his mind while Pyrrha proceeded to hit her marks on the rest of the remaining targets without a single miss. Much less, a full reload. Come to think of it...

"What's your cartridge?"

"Hm?"

Six lifted himself off the ground to lean against the sandbags while Sparta readjusted herself to sit on one of the empty plastic beer cartons. "What's the caliber of your ammunition? Forty-seventy government? Three-oh-eight?"

"Oh, um...not those. They're actually Mistralian match grade Dust rounds."

 _Wait, what?_ "Say again?"

"Match grade bullets. For sharpshooting competitions and hunting Grimm."

"No, no, no. Before that. You said they're..."

"Mistralian Dust rounds."

 _Dust. Shit._ "Did you retrieve the spent casings?"

"Yes. I always do."

"And...do you recycle your bullets?"

Sparta shrugged. "Well, not personally. Usually, we have the quartermaster at Beacon supply our ammunition..." She trailed off, confusion reining momentarily. Then realization. Her eyes were as wide as saucers the moment her hands dug into her pouch. "I...I think I'm low on Dust."

The Courier stared incredulously at her. _Goddamn it._

* * *

The rest of Team JNPR-S (the 'S' added on after Syrup's induction into the group) idled by the campfire below the nest, no doubt basking in the pride of their own champion who had undoubtedly bested the NCR's trained marksmen. Or so they assumed. Their cheers sputtered out when they noticed how cross Six looked and the nervous apologetic mien Pyrrha sported.

"So...did she beat you at your own game?" Jaune cautiously inquired after they had descended from the perch and huddled by the fire pit.

"Do any of you have any Dust on you?" the Courier demanded. "And I mean Remnant Dust."

"I've got enough to take down a whole fort!" Nora declared, raising Magnhild proudly over her head, the massive sledgehammer transforming into a sophisticated cylindrical grenade launcher.

Ren shook his head as he carefully fed large chunks of raw gecko meat into Syrup's waiting maw. Come to think of it, he was running low on ammunition for his akimbo... Oh. So that's why Six was asking. "I, uh, have about seventy rounds left."

"Are those Dust-based?" followed Six.

"Yes."

"So are mine," Nora added.

"I guess we have a...shortage?" Pyrrha shakily concluded.

"What shortage?" Jaune's confusion only skyrocketed with the mix of looks that came his way. "What?"

"Does your sword double as a gun, Knight-boy?"

"Uh, no..."

"Any ranged weapons you have?"

The blonde scratched the back of his head, still unbelievably unable to grasp the severity of the problem much less the problem itself. "I can throw my sword...but then I'd have to get it back."

"Ooh! Ooh!" flailed Nora. "Are we going to learn about Earth weapons now? Can we get to blow up stuff!?"

The Courier released a long, pained sigh. "Yes, Pancake." _Thank fuck Hyper ain't here._ Who knows what fresh hell was going to happen if Ruby ever managed to visit the Gun Runners. It was stressful enough just keeping her from breaking into the factory. With his upgrades, Victor should be keeping a good eye and a solid leash on team RWBY while he was away training team JNPR. "We're going gun shopping. You're all on a budget so don't be picky."

"Awesome!"

"Well, I guess it won't hurt to have a little extra punch in case of emergencies," Jaune intoned.

Six sighed— _finally, the kid understands!_ —and reached over to take in his share of their lunch. "Just don't shoot yourself in the foot."

* * *

"Authenticate caller."

"Caller Charlie Sierra India X-ray. Requesting supply drop. Over."

"Authorized. Nature of content?"

"Assorted ammunition. Standard package. Limited explosive ordnance. Over."

"Acknowledged, Charlie Sierra India X-ray. Coordinates to be forwarded. Out."

Six tucked the NCR emergency radio back into his satchel then checked his Pip-boy for the designated drop zone. _Going to be another long walk._ "Pack up! We're heading north, kids!"

An hour later, team JNPR (excluding Syrup) were reequipped with an array of salvaged firearms and their respective ammunition. To their credit, they were eager to try and learn them. Unfortunately, Jaune accidentally depressed the trigger to his shotgun, sending a beanbag round into Six's unguarded crotch. It would become the first of many non-lethal misfires that would plague the next several hours of impromptu weapons training.

Thankfully, the only person to get hurt from all that was the Courier. _Damn kids and their damn Aura._ And it wasn't like he was seriously injured; he had survived far worse. Twelve-gauge beanbags, forty-millimeter grenades, and three-oh-eight full metal jackets were nothing serious. _Well, except for the three-oh-eights. Goddamn Sparta. 'It was an accident,' she says. 'It ricocheted off the plate,' she says. Tell that to the brand new hole in my ass! Damn, that shit hurt..._

* * *

By nightfall, they had detoured to the Followers clinic outside the Vegas walls to extract whatever shrapnel was still left in his body. At least the kids chipped in to pay for half the treatment.

"My, you've got quite the litter," remarked Doctor Usanagi as she tightened the gauze around his forearm. "I don't mean any offense but I didn't know you had this big of a family."

Six raised his brow. "What?"

"Fathering eight children. That must have been quite the challenge. I can understand why you managed to keep them out of the Mojave until now."

 _Oh, shit._ "... Right." _Goddamn rumor mill. Where did you hear that bullshit from?_ "They're not really..."

"Don't worry. You can always count on us to safeguard them," Usanagi said with a warm smile.

"Doc, they're not my—"

"Is daddy okay?"

The Courier blinked. _What._ His mouth hung agape at team JNPR peaking their heads around the door frame. _The._ Pancake was on the verge of tears. _Flying._ Shaolin, Sparta, Knight-boy, and even Syrup (how is that little demon even smiling!?) all sported very convincing looks of innocent, infantile concern. _Fuck._

"Don't worry, Nora. _Dad_ is going to be fine. Right, doctor?"

Being the caring physician, Usanagi was quick to offer them her concern in the manner that one would address worried relatives."Yes, dear. Your father is not seriously injured. But he has to stay the night. His body needs to rest. And so do you."

"So...can we watch over our _daddy_?"

"Sure. We can spare a couple extra beds for you."

The moment the doctor turned her back, Six caught the thumbs up from Nora and the other teens nervously pointing at her (Shaolin sported a satisfied front). Of course. Leave it to the hyperactive ginger to start shit like this.

'It was her idea,' lipped Jaune to which Pyrrha and Ren nodded a little too enthusiastically.

Six was speechless. Complete and utter disbelief. His mind was still trying to comprehend the fact that people in New Vegas—no, the whole damn Mojave—were thinking that these brats were his own _flesh and blood_. The rest of his brain was either sputtering like rusted cogs or screaming gibberish at the sky. All he could do was gawk, jaw practically hanging off his head, unable to neither glare nor smirk. _God-fucking-damn it._

He'd rather get shot in the head right now.

* * *

"Blondie!" greeted Swank. "How're you doin', doll?"

Yang slid onto the stool with a wink and a disarming grin. "Swell! I got a really good feeling about tonight."

The head of the Chairmen raised a curious brow, replacing the glass he was cleaning back onto the rack behind the bar. The girl had assets, was technically legal, but put him off for being more of a wild child than a responsible adult. "Feelin' fancy, eh? Ring-a-ding, this ain't the Ultra Luxe but I'm flattered."

"Just feel like dressing up, you know?"

"You're pulling my strings, baby. Got another couple needin' some alone time?" After all, for what other reason did this busty bombshell go through all the trouble to visit him in his penthouse suite at the top of the Tops?

"Nope. Not tonight. Something different." She traced her finger across the bar, letting her bare forearm and her strategically revealing attire encase his attention.

Swank leaned over, curiosity hiding behind his trademark smirk. "Oh? Might cost 'ya."

On cue, Blake rounded the Chairman to slide a whole stack of neatly-wrapped NCR bills across the tabletop. The slip running down her long black gown revealed the pommel of the serrated combat knife tucked against her thigh. Constant visits to the casinos made it easy to learn how to smuggle contraband passed security—a good workaround to having to leave their signature weapons back at the Lucky 38. As to how he had not seen her enter, he chalked it up to the black-haired girl being that slick.

"There's more where that came from," teased Yang, her other arm planted on the top with enough weight to flex some female muscle.

Swank, for his part, was good at looking smug if not amused. "I'm guessin' your sister and her girlfriend's hangin' 'round in the back, eh?"

"We are _not_ in that kind of relationship, mind you," retorted Weiss in her elegant white gown, appearing from his own bedroom. Ruby silently followed after her in a more modest crimson dress, her cheeks slightly flushed. How the hell did they get in through there? They were on the top floor!

The man retreated behind his own bar now appearing more reserved than concerned. "The whole gang's here. To what do I owe this lovely audience?"

"A little harmless gossip," Yang replied, her intimidating smile never once faltering.

For a moment, Swank remained silent. Four teenaged girls—four _dangerous_ teenaged girls—had wormed their way into his private quarters, somehow slipping past security, and most likely cornered him like a rat in a cage, trapped behind his own cocktail lounge. Even without their hardware, he was smart enough not to test their patience.

For crying out loud, they _lodged_ with Courier Six; it made sense that he taught them how to rip a man's head off his shoulders with their bare hands. They were _his kids_ , after all. Right? Most likely adopted or otherwise illegitimate but his kids nonetheless. Yeah, definitely adopted. Miss Xiao Long had tried to pair up two of her own 'siblings' in one of their suites.

The blonde brawler leaned inward, offering a pristine view of her (technically legal) cleavage over the marble countertop. "What's the matter, Swanky?"

Right. He'd been quietly stewing behind his own drinking space. Salvaging his air with a light huff, he said, "Runnin' the numbers, doll. Now why'd you come to me for something Mister New Vegas told everyone?"

"Oh, not everyone knows. Six has...secrets. Secrets that matter," Ruby finally intoned.

"What do I know then?" Swank deflected. "The Chairmen run things around here. Omertas and White Glove do their own thing but we keep the balance."

"We know where your money comes from," Blake interjected. "We traced your paper trails, tracked your sources. It's not that hard to do."

"We did our homework. Now tell us if we got some things wrong," Yang ended.

The leader of the Chairmen took the next moment to rein in the rapid beating in his chest. Intimidated? Yes. Frightened? Somewhat. On edge? Most definitely. "Blondie, are you sure you can afford what you're askin'?"

"We have the money and we have the means," Weiss countered with an icy glare while Ruby forwarded another stack of NCR bills.

It seemed like a satisfactory answer because he laughed. "Ring-a-ding, baby, what can the chairman of the Chairmen do for you fine ladies?"

"Six has quite the reputation, don't you think?" Yang began. "Pretty big name around here."

Another chuckle. Of course. Daddy didn't tell his little girls what he's been up to out here. As the timeless adage goes: what goes on in Vegas stays in Vegas. This was going to be a long paid interrogation. "Wasn't that big a name until a couple years ago. Ever heard of Mister House?"

* * *

 **NOTE: Looks like team RWBY's doing a little harmless digging. They may or may not like what they find. And who's to say their sources aren't exactly legitimate? ;)**

 **Hope you guys like it so far. I appreciate the communication in the reviews.**

 **~o~**

 **And now, my conversations with the guest reviews:**

 _ **Breacher:**_ **That's...an ideal ending. I've only played about three hours of Fallout 4 and made it up until the first deathclaw in the game so I can't really grasp the entire 'Peaceful Minutemen Ending' (and I have looked it up) but I do understand the general idea. As lovely as it is, I'd have to make a pass since this fic takes place _after_ most of the other head honchos have been "dealt with." Also, it's a bit too romanticised for the general theme going on here. Sorry. But I'll keep that in mind for any future scenarios.**

 **And don't worry about Syrup. Nora's going to make sure the little deathclaw grows up with her wherever, whenever. :D**

 _ **Guest:**_ **Thank you. I don't plan on involving much of the DLCs but I will hint at Six having already done his dues there. As for Winter in the Think Tank, though... I might have to play through the game again to be able to jog my memory and get the feel of the Big MT again. It's been a long while. And likewise, have a good day. :)**

 _ **Self-governance:**_ **Thanks. I'll look it up when I could spare the time. :)**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **You're getting there. Six is indeed securing his position in the Mojave (you gotta do what you gotta do to survive). I'll...leave it at that. I'd be spoiling too much if I say anymore. ;)**

 **Qrow's coming soon, that I can be sure of. As to how he's going to make his 'grand entrance,' I'm still divided on that. There are so many possible scenarios (including the Gomorrah one) for him to enter the story. And there's the possibility that Qrow might catch on to the Courier's motives and...things might go south real fast. Cass, on the other hand... I wanted to put her in early on but the inclusion of such a colorful character make it difficult to maintain the dynamic or the continuum of the story.** **I'm currently on the fence about bringing in the New Vegas followers. It's already a challenge maintaining this big a cast (Six, RWBY, JNPR, Raul, Hsu).**

 **Also, I've completely forgotten about the Thorn. Thanks for bringing that up. While it would be fun to see Yang duke it out against mutants (and enrich Six because he knows she'll win with her Aura and Semblance), note that at this point in the fic, Yang has yet to embrace the idea of personally killing other humans (much less actually take another person's life). And the Thorn has human combatants (Fiends, raiders, etc.) most likely drugged, kidnapped, and enslaved to fight gladiatorial matches to earn their promised (crossed-fingers) freedom. I don't want to crack her psyche just yet. (It would be amusing to see Six trying to keep Red Lucy off Yang. :P)**

 **~o~**

 **Here's a little extra that I almost deleted from this chapter. I think this is what you might call an "omake" (or whatever that means).**

* * *

Shortly beforehand...

"Is it that far in there?"

"Whoa. That's a deep hole."

"I'm sorry, Six. I really am."

"That's okay, Pyrrha. So how do we pull it out?"

 _Would you goddamn kids shut the fuck up!?_ Six grimaced as he pressed himself off the ground, his derriere both damp with blood and numb from the crumpled three-oh-eight bullet lodged above his sphincter. Wincing and growling, he limped past the kids to pick up the rest of their equipment, along the way, passing the sheet metal targets bearing the dents from which a stray round from Pyrrha's Garand bounced off and literally tore him a brand new anus. Today's marksmanship lesson has officially ended.

"You still alright there?"

"I can walk," the Courier spat bitterly, his awkward gait made more difficult by Syrup's constant attempts to lick his backside clean to which the little shit got a solid slap to the head.

"I'm sorry."

 _Shut up, Sparta._ "We're done here. Let's get moving," he ordered between grimaces.

"You sure you can walk straight? You're still bleeding."

"You should sit down, Six. We could help—"

"I'm fine, kids." _Like hell am I letting you do surgery on my ass!_

Pyrrha whimpered a little. "Um, I could use my Semblance...to extract the bullet..."

 _Oh hell no!_ The Courier felt his brows rise, having already seen her break apart any metallic thing through sheer magnetism. And given his situation, it was not the safest method at all. _Are you even_ thinking _, Sparta!? The shrapnel's going to rip through my colon!_ As such, he was about to savagely tear her offer apart until Jaune placed a hand over hers.

"Um, I think that would do more damage than anything," Knight-boy said.

"So..." Nora drawled, picking up the pace. "... When are we learning field stripping?"

A round of chokes echoed from the rest of the teenagers, eliciting a vexed groan from the limping veteran wastelander. _Context, Pancake. Goddamn context._ "Not today."

"Aww, but I was really excited to strip!"

 _Son of a bitch._ "Nora."

"Yes, Six?"

 _Shut the hell up._ "Be quiet."

"Okay!" she lied.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: February 25, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: March 2, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: March 2, 2018**


	11. Poison

"Take it slow. You still need another day's rest."

"I hear you, doc," Six replied, waving her off. "I can handle this." He made for the door, grimacing with every step, only to have both Pancake and Shaolin suddenly prop him up from underneath his armpits as unofficial crutches. "The hell!?"

"Don't worry, doc," Knight-boy reiterated. "We'll make sure _dad_ won't push himself too hard."

The Courier growled under his breath, deciding against resisting as Ren and Nora unceremoniously carried him out of the clinic. _I can very well damn walk, kids. Fucking hell, I'm not a damn cripple!_ "I'm fine, kids. Put me down."

"It's for the best," Pyrrha said. "You might tear through the stitches if we let you walk like that."

"She's right, Six," added Jaune. "This is for your own good. Besides, let us take care of you for once."

 _Alright, this is bullshit._ Six wiggled out of their grasp, landing on his legs with solid poise. He slung his arm over his field kit. "See? I'm fine. Come on. We can make it back to—"

Then he tripped on the gutter. Landed on his face. And felt something stretch _painfully_ over his freshly repaired sphincter. Like paper tearing against staples. Then searing pain javelining into his rectum. _Shit._

"You need help with that?" mused Nora.

Six grit his teeth, spitting out the gravel in his mouth. _Goddamn it._

* * *

They were almost there. Almost there. The walls of New Vegas were three streets away, the relative safety (and manageable thuggery) of Freeside only a half-hour of walking distance. The sanctuary of relief that was the Lucky 38 was taunting in its display of its towering saucer from within the luxury of the Strip. And yet, this happened. Somehow, by some stroke of misfortune, this happened.

Six stomped on the nightstalker twice, on the tail to immobilize it and on the head to kill it. But not after it sunk its envenomed teeth into the rear of a passing Jaune Arc. While team JNPR-S responded to their wailing leader, the Courier paced to the manhole in the middle of the street and shuffled the errant grate into place to keep the any more mutated hybrids from slithering out. _Goddamn shits are sneaking through the sewers from the desert._

"I just got bit by a dog-snake!" howled Knight-boy as he clutched his bleeding derriere. "What the hell was that thing!? How did it climb up a ladder!?"

"It's the wasteland. Be glad this was a lone wolf," Six replied nonchalantly, limping over. "These nightstalkers hunt in packs—"

"Packs!?"

"This one must've gotten past the fodder in the sewers." _Going to have to dump some more meat bags in there._ Six nudged the tip of his boot against Knight-boy's rib. "Looks like we both got a stinger up the ass, eh, kid."

"Don't worry, Jaune!" soothed Pancake. "We'll fix your butt."

"Um, how exactly, Nora?" asked a worried (and flustered) Sparta who just so happened to be the appropriate snuggle pillow for their distraught team leader.

The Courier stepped (or rather painfully limped) into their circle, his hands digging through his field kit. "Survival one-oh-one, kids." _I should have some tubing here somewhere._

Shaolin looked up at him expectantly. "You have a remedy?"

Six frowned. He searched again. Nothing. _Shit. Got the seeds but nothing else. I knew I should've packed some anti-venom._ "No tourniquets." A sigh. "Looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way."

Jaune paled as he latched onto Pyrrha with a vice grip. "Am I going to die!?"

"Is Jaune going to die!?"

"He's not going to die, Nora."

"If we don't act now, he might," mulled Sparta, who reciprocated the iron embrace, her cheeks as red as her hair. "It'll be okay, Jaune. Hush now."

"I'm still going to die!"

The Courier groaned. "Shut up and spread your butt cheeks, boy!"

"... What?"

Six grimaced as he knelt down. His pelvis ached from the surgery that pulled out several pieces of shrapnel out of his posterior. But the stitches beside his nether regions were on the verge of ripping if he so much as bent over. He hoped he had enough morphine to dull the pain while he recovered. That meant he had to guide the kids how to do this right. He began by gesturing for Jaune to face the concrete and bring his rear up.

"You're not serious, are you?" prodded Ren.

Sparta appeared completely conflicted, wrapped around a petrified Knight-boy.

"Come on, kid. Pull down your pants and get your ass up." He produced a bundle of buffalo gourd seeds. "Rub these on the wound quick. Come on. Chop-chop! Any longer and the venom'll be too deep in your system for us to do anything."

"Are you..."

The Courier shook his head. _My ass still hurts._ "I just got surgery. I can't risk ripping out the stitches now. One of you'll have to do it." _Besides, you kids need to damn well learn._

"Oh." Ren looked around. "Pyrrha, are you okay?"

"Huh?" Sparta shook her head, her entire head glistening with sweat and a bright fluster. "Uh, I'm fine, Ren. I, uh, I'm totally fine, hah!"

 _Goddamn hormones._ "Get your heads straight, kids. This is survival! You want Knight-boy to live? Well then one of you'll have to bend down, rub the seeds on it, and suck the damn venom out of his ass." He snapped his fingers impatiently. "I said put your rear up, boy!"

"That can't be the only alternative," Pyrrha protested shakily, the look on her face a mix of bug-eyed horror and drooling satisfaction.

"Shut up and suck it up, damn it!"

Team JNPR-S eyed each other (Syrup, meanwhile, was busy gobbling up the dead nightstalker). It was as though time had frozen and there before him were four divided teens, contemplating what to do while one of them held on for dear life, his arms literally holding onto a partner on the verge of passing out from embarrassment while the ginger and her best friend silently argued who would do it and how it would be done.

"Damn it, kids! Hurry up before his Aura closes up the—"

And then the world snapped. Or at least, something triggered the response he saw played out before his very eyes.

In two seconds, Pancake pulled down Knight-boy's jeans only to be subdued by a horrified Shaolin leaving Sparta to frantically tear his boxers off, exposing the bulging snake-bite on a muscled butt cheek. All the while Jaune screamed and clawed at the concrete. Then...the expected happened.

* * *

Back at Doctor Usanagi's clinic, the nurses wheeled in a cathartic Jaune for proper treatment while Six sat back at reception, haggling for spare surgical tubing. Across from him, Pancake chirpily consoled a feverish Sparta, the redhead clearly deprived of whatever sanity was left, her hands trembling, sweat dripping from every orifice, her porcelain skin reddened for good reason, her wide-eyed gaze cemented to the floor. Any uninformed person in the room would have mistaken her for an escaped mental patient.

All the while Shaolin shook his head and continued writing down Pyrrha's anti-venom intake schedule. Two doses of the stuff for the next three days, enough to flush out every toxic drop and more. He sighed, having caught the bare hints of a satisfied (if not animalistic) grin on the edges of her lips. He wondered if the Mistralian would actually bother to properly wash her mouth after that.

Fifty-fifty chance she might not.

He was sure she was savoring the taste. For crying out loud, she was all over the place and they had to pry her off and subdue her after she nearly poisoned herself. Ren leaned back on his seat as Nora took the catatonic Pyrrha in a warm hug with Syrup nuzzling its head against her legs. He wondered how team RWBY was doing.

* * *

The NCR embassy had that air of suffocating diplomacy that all of team RWBY immediately recognized. Politics had a venomous atmosphere that was so toxic that it threatened to eat away at anyone ill-fit to deal with its noxious arguments. At least, on this occasion, they were not going to discuss politics. They hoped not to. All they did was accept an invitation from Ambassador Dennis Crocker for a special meeting in his office.

They expected a nondescript room with dry scentless walls, stuffed bookshelves, and a cluttered desk flanked by cushioned chairs. They did not expect Brigadier General James Hsu pouring himself a glass of water as they squeezed into the recliner in the middle of his office. All in all, the warning signs of a dangerous game they weaved themselves into.

Pleasantries were quick with the occasional elbow to Yang and glare from Weiss. Hsu meandered to the edge of the table, sipping at his glass. "How are things, ladies?"

"Things are fine, general," the heiress replied with the classic formality of a Schnee complete with a straight back and arms folded neatly over her lap. "Is there anything of the matter that needs to be discussed?"

"It's best if I'll be frank with you today."

"By all means, general," Blake replied evenly.

The NCR commander had no visible discernible emotion on his face, his modest irises concealing whatever motives could be discerned. "Your investigation has not gone unnoticed. We won't deny it; Courier Six has been a stabilizing force in the Mojave for two years now. However, recent events have...prompted a review of his activities."

The girls' silence prodded him to continue.

"We can neither confirm nor deny that Six has the means to destabilize the region. For what reason, we don't know. And that's what we've been trying to determine for the longest time."

"Hold up," Yang interjected, muscling her arm up much to Weiss's discomfort. "Are you asking us to do your dirty work? 'Cause, news flash! We're not taking any commissions right now!"

"We're not asking you to kill anyone. We're asking you to...monitor someone important. Keep him from doing anything drastic."

"Or damaging," added the ambassador.

Blake narrowed her gaze, her fingers paling with how tight she was gripping the armrest. "What makes you think that Six is a threat?"

"I'd rather not use that word," Crocker corrected. "More of a _potential concern_."

Hsu continued, "Six helped us before but things are different now. I'm going on the assumption that you are aware of the fresh changes that have been going on in the Mojave and the NCR."

"You mean Moore's recall, your promotion, and the Three Families scrambling to abuse the apparent power vacuum?" blurted Ruby with the oblivious innocence of a child, causing her teammates to gawk at her. "What? It's what happened, right?"

"You're not wrong there," the general confirmed. "But let's leave it at that for now. What matters is that our discussion does not leave this room. I trust you will hold to this agreement of nondisclosure. As Huntresses."

Team RWBY stared back at him. Brigadier General James Hsu was a difficult man to read. While the diplomat behind the desk had that pokerface of an experienced gambler, the officer standing in front of them efficiently denied them any means of catching onto whatever ulterior motive there was. Ruby and Yang itched with fearful surprise in contrast to the wariness seeping from Weiss and Blake.

The reaper felt her voice hitch in her throat. "Go ahead."

Crocker handed them a dossier he withdrew from his drawer. "We have strong reason to believe that Courier Six has a secret weapon."

"What is it?" Weiss asked as they flipped through the folder, analyzing lines of printed text and grainy photographs.

"The Samson Option," Hsu replied. "A potentially dangerous directive that only Six is capable of activating. That dossier you're holding is as much as we know about it as of this time."

Team RWBY felt the world condense. This was a sudden influx of information. Swank was very cooperative the previous night but they were wise enough to take everything with a grain of salt. Gossip was untrustworthy compared to this official report by the NCR, a government with a well-oiled intelligence division. And whether or not Hsu was tossing them a bone, they were sure tempted to sink their teeth into it.

It was difficult to believe. Six, the grumpy not-so-old man who begrudgingly takes care of them, had actually done all this. And is suspected to be capable of doing even more. They had to be wrong, right? This can't all be true! This has to be... This can't be...

"... Why are you telling us this?" asked Ruby after going through the file, her mind still reeling, her emotions conflicted.

The way the Hsu folded his arms and raised his chin reminded them starkly of a certain Atlesian general. "Six needs help. You can help him better than we—or anyone else at this point—can."

Blake cleared her throat. She did not like how this was going. But for the sake of their current predicament, she felt it best to play along. "How are we supposed to 'help?'"

"Find out what this Samson Option actually is and, if proven to be dangerous, shut it down."

"Six won't like that," mused Yang. She may be the best brawler in the Mojave, as most people would claim, but she still remembered Six snapping and beating her down during one of their 'drunken episodes.'

"It's for the best interests of the Republic and the Mojave," Crocker intoned. "Six has been a blessing to our nation but I'm afraid he's considered taking matters into his own hands. If he decides to activate the Samson Option, there is nothing we can do to stop it. Whatever _it_ really is."

"Let's clarify things first," Weiss breathed. "You want us to disrupt this...secret weapon...before it gets out of hand and possibly cause mass havoc and destruction. Because Courier Six can't lift a finger against us? Because we're his, quote-unquote, _kids_?"

"Because Six, the guy who's _taking care of us_ , lost a bolt in his noggin somewhere?" Yang pressed through clenched teeth. "Because you think this guy who practically saved your nation has gone off the deep end?"

"If that's how you see it, then yes," Hsu answered.

"And what if we don't want to?" Blake retorted. "What if this is all just speculation? Faulty evidence? False leads? What if this Samson Option is not as belligerent as you believe it to be? What then?" For all she knew, they were being used to get at someone as influential and undeniably authoritative as Six. The NCR was no different than a soulless government.

"Then you're free to walk out from this room and forget we ever had this meeting," Crocker evenly replied. "We'll handle the fallout and run damage control like we always do. Operations like this are easy to sweep under the rug regardless of the outcome."

Hsu cleared his throat in response to the girls tensing. "We're not threatening you. The Ambassador means that we clean up after our messes. We keep our word, you keep yours. If you turn this down, we never talked and never will talk about this."

If anyone were to ask Ruby about politics, she would say as much as the next person on the street. Yang was more acute to it but preferred to let her fists handle the problems at hand. Weiss had a mindset sharpened by a lifetime in a controversial business conglomerate. Blake, on the other hand, had grown up on the other end of the spectrum and from whose lenses she viewed and acted, the cloak-and-dagger method being more natural to her. With these differing mentalities, team RWBY mulled over the proposal. Divided, confused, and now reasonably distrustful of the NCR.

After a long quiet minute, Ruby asked, "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Dennis Crocker released a long sigh. "Preserving the Republic is neither an easy or a clean job."

"You will be helping to secure the lives of hundreds of thousands of people," Hsu eased. "Future generations depend on efforts like this."

Another long moment of uneasy silence passed.

"There has to be strings attached," piped Yang.

"What do you want in exchange?" Weiss asked diplomatically.

The answer was quick and predetermined. "Unrestricted access to Project Fragment."

The girls realized the depth behind the name.

"Project Fragment is a top secret scientific endeavor to either discover or create a gateway to your world of Remnant," Crocker explained.

"We knew from the beginning," the general continued. "The details fell into place shortly thereafter. Dust, Aura, Semblance, and the Grimm. We've been picking up the pieces for months now. You were not the only articles of Remnant to end up in the Mojave and believe me when I tell you that you aren't the last."

"Wait! Y-You know?" Ruby sputtered. "You _knew_!?"

Hsu nodded. "We can't overlook the details. Your antics at the casinos, the incident at Cottonwood, the pile-up along I-95, your vigilantism in Freeside. And the list continues to grow."

"We have eyes and ears everywhere," Crocker intoned.

"It was not that hard to connect the dots."

"You knew this whole time..." Yang mumbled.

"Of course, you did," Blake muttered. "Six bought your silence. Ren and Nora made sure you keep that silence."

The ambassador nodded sagely. "We can keep secrets if the price is right. The fact that we know carries strong implications. If it helps you sleep better tonight, know that this is a closely guarded secret. No one else other than myself, the general, and the people working on Fragment know about this. You can also thank Lieutenants Pappas and Boyd for keeping the MPs mouths shut as well."

"We don't have much time but I'll allow the day to think it through."

Team RWBY gave them a minute of silence before Blake initiated the walk-out, leaving Crocker to stretch against his chair.

"Well, we tried, general."

"That doesn't mean they didn't refuse."

"They didn't agree, either."

"Give them a few hours, Dennis. They'll come around."

"What makes you so sure? We took a gamble. We laid out all our cards on the table. And we lost. They'd be telling Papa Six—"

"They won't." Hsu poured himself another glass of water. "They have their convictions to worry about. But if all else fails, then I have the manpower and the materiel to deal with the problem."

The ambassador was visibly disturbed. "Lee and Moore sure rubbed off on you. Makes me think the position of general is a living curse. Turns all men like you into something else."

"I'm just doing what needs to be done."

* * *

 **NOTE: So...writing the interactions between Crocker, Hsu, and team RWBY was really difficult, mainly because I was switching perspectives before settling on RWBY's perspective for that part. I want to explore the girls' emotional roller-coaster that comes with learning more about Six but I also don't want to oversaturate things.**

 **Anyway, things are going to get serious now. Hope you like it and let me know what you think.**

 **~o~**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **RWBY and JNPR reacting to and accepting Six's past is going to be a challenge to write. It's proving to be far more difficult than I anticipated. Executing story time between the cast (Six and co. swapping life stories with RWBY and JNPR) is a delicate procedure and I feel like it's been done many times before. If I were to ever write it in, I'd have to put it down differently, make it uniquely interesting.**

 **Though the reputation thing is something workable. It'd be nice to write about how Daddy Six would castrate all the boys who'd dare touch his "little girls" (don't know how he'd deal with Jaune and Ren, though). :P**

 **The Boone and Lily suggestions gave me something solid. While the Lily one would be fun to write, I'm afraid I'd have to exclude it (probably make it an omake, at best) because I have a story arc planned now. Boone, on the other hand, would definitely make an appearance far later in the story. Probably would show up around the same time as Qrow. Thank again, so much, for the chapter ideas. :)**

 **~o~**

 **Here's another omake.**

* * *

"Okay, you got the venom."

Sparta's normally calm and collected demeanor quickly devolved the moment her face mirrored the color of her hair; her cheeks puffed as she struggled not to spit out the poison sloshing in her mouth. Her breathing became frantic, her hands flailing wildly around her, squeaks loosed through her tightened lips.

"You got it, Pyrrha!" cheered Nora as she and Syrup held Jaune down against the concrete (or more appropriately sat on him). By then, Knight-boy was nothing more than a young teen sapped of all his strength and sanity, akin to a man who had been raped.

"Take it easy," Ren advised, helping his teammate calm her flying arms. Only now, her legs started stomping erratically. "It's not that bad."

"Focus, Sparta," Six instructed. "Now spit it out—"

Gulp.

Eyes bugged out of their sockets.

Six blinked. _Are you fucking kidding me._ "... Sparta..."

"Pyrrha, did you...?"

Nora leaped around them, her leg still on top of their team leader. The ginger took a closer look at the now catatonic Mistralian, her mouth starting to creak open. "Uh, Pyrrha. You know, you weren't supposed to swallow."

The Courier felt his hand smack against the side of his face. _Goddamn it._

"... Uh, guys? Is it over?" Jaune whinnied.

"I think so," Nora replied. Then she slapped his bare keister. "Nice butt, by the way."

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: March 8, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: March 10, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: March 10, 2018**


	12. Intervention

By the time they reached the ancient wooden gates of the Old Mormon Fort, the Courier could barely trudge more than three streps before clenching his buttocks to keep the stitches from ripping apart. _Goddamn Usanagi needs to recalibrate the fucking Auto-doc if she keeps using it so much. The damn thing needs a tune up! High-class surgery my ass—it's going to tear open!_

It didn't help that the sweat that came with the Mojave's searing heat made it feel like he either shat his pants or sat on something really, really wet. Having to muscle through the desert for hours in underwear made sticky by bodily fluids was one of the most discomforting quirks of constant walking. That and he had to put up with Pancake's constant eye-spy games because Sparta and Knight-boy were being damn awkward again while Shaolin was on Syrup duty (keeping the infant deathclaw from clomping down on random passing prey, human and animal).

"Welcome back," greeted a tired Julie Farkas. Despite her visible exhaustion, she mustered enough energy to inspect him. "Are you alright?"

 _Sparta shot me in the ass and the Auto-doc sort of fucked it up._ "Nothing serious," Six replied, waving her off. "Just need some extra painkillers."

"Are you injured?" she pressed while she studied him.

"Oh, he's just cranky," Nora mirthfully dismissed with a wave. "Pyrrha accidentally shot him while training."

"It was an accident," the redhead muttered with her head bowed.

As expected, Julie bought it. "Oh, I see." And more. "Well, I'm sure your father wouldn't mind."

 _Oh for fuck's sake, not you too!_ The Courier groaned, leaning against the empty supply crates. Having something to sit on relieved a bit of the pain. "I'm not... Please, just go check if you got something. Morphine, dipyrone, Med-X, anything."

"Well, we don't have much in reserve but I'll go check. Where exactly does it hurt?"

"His butt," Jaune replied tiredly. He yawned, missing Six's paralyzing glare. "Can I get something for me, too?"

Julie rounded him. "Are you injured?"

"I was bitten," the blonde replied.

"Where?"

"Um..."

Ren exhaled. "In the rear. It was a...night-stalker, was it?"

That jolted Julie awake. "A nightstalker?" She leaned into his pupils. "No dilations, no discoloration..."

"Oh, don't worry, doc!" Nora chirped. "We got rid of the poison."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Pyrrha sucked it out of him."

And that was when the atmosphere in their circle fell dead silent. Syrup let out a sound that came close to a snicker. Pancake just kept grinning while Sparta tried to melt behind her hair.

Julie cleared her throat. "Right. Uh, follow me please."

* * *

 _Huh. Nobody home._ The Courier stifled the feeling in his gut as he went for the kitchen while team JNPR-S fell into their routine comforts. Nothing serious had happened with team RWBY (or courtesy _of_ team RWBY) for the past week so he had no reason to worry about their absence from the Lucky 38 when they returned. Victor said they went to help out at Vault 21. _Why am I not surprised._

Six sat back on a chair, popped in two pills courtesy of the Followers of the Apocalypse, and the took a long swig from the whiskey bottle. And promptly spat out his drink. _Son of a bitch!_ He raised the glass to his eyes, watching the clear fluid slosh inside. This was neither tequila nor vodka. It wasn't even alcohol. It had a lot of sugar, though, enough to make Hyper jump off the walls. "Fucking...juice?"

"Doctor Farkas recommended you reduce your alcohol consumption," Shaolin remarked, firing up the stove.

Six let out a low growl. _Damn it, Julie._ She means well but there was a reason why he often ignored the advice of physicians. "What have I told you, kids? _Never_ touch my liquor!"

Ren shrugged, instead focusing on mixing a bowl of eggs, butter, and flour. "We were only concerned for your well-being."

The Courier made to rebut when he heard Nora's voice boom over the suite. "This is an intervention, Six!"

 _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Pancake stood by the doorframe, radiating mischievous determination.

"We can't have our _dad_ getting too drunk to take care of us," she continued, clearly savoring how far she was taking this stupid charade.

He glared at the Knight-boy and Sparta twiddling their thumbs behind her. The former simply pointed at the ginger while mouthing, 'It was all her idea.' The latter shrugged and added, 'Sorry but you sort of need this, to be honest.'

 _I can't believe this shit._ "This has got to be some kind of joke."

Nora shook her head. "Nope. We're going to fix you right up."

The Courier chuckled. Slightly nervously. "You can't take away my alcohol."

"We just did," Ren answered somberly.

Jaune let out a defeated sigh as his shoulders sagged. "She made us dump all your liquor in the sewer while you were talking to the cops."

Six didn't want to believe him. But even as his eyes bugged out of his sockets, even after he feverishly dug through his field pack, regardless of frantically running inventory on his Pip-boy, he came to accept the painful truth that Pancake had indeed disposed of every single alcoholic beverage in his arsenal. Even his precious wasteland tequila that he constantly kept in a special hands-off, hard-to-reach place.

 _Fuck._

He yanked hard on the fridge and nearly ripped the door off its hinges. The corks had cracks in them while the seals below the caps on the bottles were either broken or missing. Every single article of liquor had been replaced with whatever crap these kids came up with. He slowly glared at the ginger, somehow finding her grin disconcerting.

"Pancake... You... How...?" _How did you sneak my stash out from under me!?_

"You have an unhealthy addiction, _dad_ ," Nora outlined. It was bad enough selling the illusion to the public but to take his apparent 'paternity' this far was getting too damn ridiculous. "Alcohol is bad for your health."

"The alcohol was disinfectant. For _injuries_ ," he argued.

Knight-boy snickered. "Yeah. Usually, you drink it to dull the pain more than clean out the gashes."

"You use clean water more than anything else as disinfectant," Ren added dryly.

The Courier turned to Sparta, expecting some meek snark or something. Instead, she simply ignored them all and kept staring at the ground. Probably a side effect of her prescription anti-venom. Or the awkward humiliation and embarrassment of the previous day.

"You kids don't know what you're doing," he countered.

"Hey, if the Followers can sober up drunks and druggies, then why can't we?" Nora flipped pulled up a clipboard to show him a physician's checklist. "Besides, we've got, uh, basic know-how. And if there's something we can't do... Well, there's no harm in trying."

Six felt his jaw go slack. _You're fucking crazy._

Pancake joyously pumped her fist into the air. "Alright then! Let's get started on your rehab!"

 _Goddamn it._ "You do know that I can kick you all out right now."

For once, Jaune simpered. The damn kid that kept getting the short end of the stick among the kids gave him a coy grin. "We dare you."

 _Why you ungrateful little shits..._ He stood to give him a piece of his mind when Pancake jumped him with her hybrid super-sledge. "Don't move! This won't hurt if you don't fight back."

Strangely, he didn't resist. Much.

* * *

As far as Ruby could recall, they had been in the Mojave for nearly a month. The first week alone was enough to shear them with the heartless reality of the wasteland. The second week was spent acclimatizing to their new environment—the constant death, the lack of care, the near absence of order they were accustomed to—while struggling with their homesickness. The third week yielded them with the quirks of being taken under the wing of one of the most influential persons in the entire region. This week shattered their illusions of him.

She could understand why hope was rare to have here. This world ate up those who tried to change it. Those who had some success ended up consuming themselves. It was bleak and heartless, despotic and cruel. Nonetheless, she still stubbornly held onto that vestige of hope.

Ruby knew there were still good people out there. Rebuilding. Restoring. That was why nations like the NCR existed. To rebuild the world from the ashes of war. To keep groups like the Legion in their place. Sure, the Republic had its questionable moments but despite its flaws, it still kept trying. And that is what solidified her resolve.

That was why she endeavored to help the people of this land. That was why she tried her damnedest to help those girls escape from Gomorrah, to supply the Followers with enough medicine and supplies, to help Six deal with his personal demons. That was why she ran along with Blake's insistence to prod the man's past. That was why she overruled Weiss's protest not to meet with the NCR.

And that was why she was here, sitting on a sink top, watching her teammates argue over Hsu's offer. It was a good thing most of the staff in the embassy were male lest they would be causing a line in front of the female lavatory.

It was difficult to believe. But all those rumors were founded on truths. And some of these truths were now coming to light. Ruby always held Six as a hero but held back on admitting that he was a worse villain than any they had ever dealt with. Decorated, admired, glorified, vilified... He did not earn his place in this world by being nice, that was for sure. The reaper decided not to think of all the other ways he did to get to where he was right now. But she did hear of some of them.

Then again, the same could be said of the NCR. The girls all had their reservations towards the Republic but they equally had every reason to consider them as the best...allies...in the Mojave wasteland, making their intel more believable than most. And the fact that they _knew_ everything this whole time, that their silence was bought, that they coming to _them_ of all people and asking them to do _this_...

"Six isn't a bad guy," Yang remarked, diffusing the argument between Weiss and Blake.

"But he technically isn't good, either," the faunus said.

"He's a war criminal," Weiss retorted. "We've been living with a war criminal!"

"Still, think about what he's done for us so far," the blonde countered. "He's been feeding us, training us, gave us a roof over our head—heck, people won't even touch us because they think we're his children!"

Blake shook her head. "I think it's more out of fear than respect."

Weiss nodded. "I doubt his service record holds any moral regard."

"Do you think he even cares about morals?"

"I don't. And that's what worries me." The heiress sighed. "Why is he going out of his way to even bother with us when he could have just disposed of us like he did with...with the last people he worked with?"

Six didn't ditch Raul, Ruby wanted to say. The 'Vegas Nine' went their separate ways after a nasty falling out. That's what most people said, right? That was the 'official' story, right?

"Because we didn't piss him off?" interjected Yang.

"Because he doesn't want anymore complications."

"Complications?"

The faunus gazed at the mirror, as though seeing through their reflections at some distant memory, some idea that was lurking over the horizon, some sort of eureka moment that... "So that's why..."

"Uh, you got something their, Blakey?"

"General Hsu is probably right. Six wouldn't bother with anyone unless he needed a front for something."

Weiss cast doubt through her narrowed gaze. "Are you implying that our technically legal guardian is using us a tool? As a sort of means to distract the outside world?"

"While he worked on something in secret," Blake continued. "This Samson Option sounds ominous. I couldn't get a solid read on the general but I could see through the ambassador."

"Alright. Lay it on us," Yang goaded.

Ruby listened intently as the faunus raised her thoughts. From what they had gathered during their short investigation, Six was an aggressive recluse. He only brought along company only when they were needed during a job. And while he kept his working group limited to at least two people, the only time he ever expanded to a full squadron was during the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.

Now those eight people who had fought and bled with him on that bloody front had since dispersed, some never to be seen again. And Six prodded on like they never even existed to begin with. The scary thought of it was that the same could happen to them. Both teams RWBY and JNPR (excluding Syrup) amounted to a full squadron with Six in charge. What could he possibly need them for?

Sure, they couldn't return to Remnant but why else would he still bother with having them around in his personal spaces if there was nothing urgent to deal with? The Legion had since retreated to the west. Raiders were easy pickings for NCR patrols. There was nothing else that the Republic could handle alone.

"Unless he wasn't working for the NCR," Weiss mouthed.

Blake nodded. "Since Hoover Dam, he's cut all ties with them."

"I can understand why. I mean, I would be more than disappointed if all my efforts would come to a sorry state as this."

"But why though?" Yang pondered. "If he's not doing any big jobs that he'd need extra muscle with, then... Why take us in?"

"The Samson Option," Ruby piped.

"About time you spoke up," her sister murmured. "You've been really quiet, you know."

The reaper nodded at her sister then continued. "You have a point, Blake. The NCR says the Samson Option is some kind of secret weapon that only Six can use. And they're afraid that he might use it against them because he isn't working for them anymore."

"And he probably needs us..." Weiss felt her brows rise to her hairline. "...to help him activate it."

"Or cover it up while he uses it against...whoever it is he's got a problem with," Yang added resolutely. "No offense, Blake, but I hope this is just some kind of crackpot theory."

"We can't possibly be sure of anything right now," Blake corrected. "But I agree with you, Ruby. If the records are accurate, Six would be too calloused to consider keeping us after he's done with the Samson Option."

"This doesn't sound right," grumbled the brawler.

"It's not supposed to," Ruby said. "But do you guys remember what General Hsu said? 'Six is a broken man' but we can fix him."

"He only said that to sell it to us—"

The reaper shook her head. "No, no. They're right on that one. Six is broken. As a person, he's got his issues. That's why he drinks. Some people drink the way he does to forget things."

"But what about Uncle Qrow?"

"Uncle Qrow has his reasons but he's not like Six. I mean, they have a lot in common but he's not...well, you know what I mean." Ruby pushed herself off the sink top, her mind set. "Guys, you know Six has issues that he keeps to himself. Whatever reason he has for keeping us around, we'll make the most of it and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid or dangerous."

"You want us to accept the NCR's offer?" Weiss slowly worded.

"Yes," came the quick reply.

Blake was reasonably apprehensive. "Are you sure about this, Ruby?"

"I don't know why we ended up here. But for whatever reason, we'll make our stay worth it. We're here to help and we _will_ help. There are a lot of broken people here but I don't think there's no one as badly in need of healing as Six is. It's pretty obvious he needs fixing. And if no one else can do it, we will. If he's going to use this Samson thingy as a weapon, we'll stop him. It's for his own good."

The reaper felt the eyes of her teammates bore into her. While this was a normal occurrence within their squad, this particular situation carried with it the burden of being far away from home, in a distant land where death was as easy as getting breakfast at Beacon's cafeteria. She gulped. But she also steeled herself. She was not a child; she was old enough to handle dilemmas like this. Or so she hoped.

Ruby took a deep breath and said with clear finality, "We may be far away from Beacon but we're still Huntresses-in-training. And as Huntresses-in-training, I say we take their offer."

It didn't take much else for the rest of her team to agree to that.

* * *

Hsu and Crocker were still in the office when they returned. Team RWBY shared apprehensive glances and curt nods with each other before Ruby stepped forward with wavering resolution.

"We'll do it. On our conditions."

"Name them," the ambassador chided.

"We want everything you've got on Six," Yang started. "And we mean _everything_."

"We also want you to reexamine your foreign policy," Blake added, "towards the independent groups of the Mojave and beyond."

"And because we are basing this on an agreement of trust," Weiss echoed, "we trust that you would refrain from hounding us with your spies. We prefer to do our business without your constant surveillance."

"That means your deal with Ren and Nora is off," Ruby reiterated. "Your cops can keep their mouths shut without our money."

To the surprise of the Huntresses-in-training, both men readily agreed to their terms. Maybe the NCR was fully capable of conceding some things, of being less belligerent and more considerate of human life. Or they were desperate. Probably both.

* * *

They returned to the Lucky 38 later that evening. Strangely enough, Six had decided to go all the way to the Atomic Wrangler in Freeside to get hammered.

"If you're wondering, it was Nora's idea," Jaune remarked tiredly, rubbing his backside. "We staged an intervention and tried to get him to stop drinking so much. It worked at first then...he sort of slipped out when Nora got distracted."

"Don't worry, we'll get him!" the ginger declared, raising Magnhild. "He's not done with day one of rehab!"

"Guys," Ruby called. She waited until all of team JNPR-S gathered around them at the guest room. A simple order sent Victor downstairs to the empty casino to watch for 'security threats.' "We've got something really serious."

"Did anyone of you burn down a building again?" Ren inquired.

"Not this time," muttered Yang.

"What then seems to be the problem," asked Pyrrha.

Ruby looked at her teammates and then their sister team then took a deep breath. "Six...needs help."

"We're already working on that—"

"No, Jaune," Weiss interrupted. "Six needs restraint on serious matters."

"Alcohol is serious—"

"Not the problem, Nora," Blake corrected.

"Listen," the reaper ordered. "The NCR asked us to investigate something Six is hiding. Something potentially dangerous. Something that they think could destroy the world as we know it."

Sensing the dumbfounded silence, Yang motioned to the elevator. "Let's talk about this upstairs. Some of you guys might be needing some cocktails for this one. I sure as hell need a couple."

* * *

 **NOTE: Goddamn this was hard to write. The challenge here was delivering team RWBY's resolve without over-saturating the narrative (I decided to settle on Ruby's perspective on this one). But I felt the need to explain why they did what they did and their rationale behind it. After all, they have to technically take a _sentient_ human life given how Six labored to keep them sheltered.**

 **Also, I took my time with this one. I even took a creative break by writing _How Long Has It Been?_ on the main fandom (shameless promotions :P) to help clear my mind after crunching so many ideas. I might be going back on this to edit it if you guys can come up with suggestions and improvements on RWBY and JNPR's psyche/mentality because I feel like more could be done with them.**

 **Hope you guys like it and let me know what you think. :)**

 **~o~**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **Yeah, I admit that was bordering on steamy but it was too good so I had to throw it in there.**

 **I could relate to your computer problems. I've worked with even worse units before so it all boils down to patience. Everything has become an exercise in patience.**

 **Now that you mentioned it, I'm planning to have Raven in but at a much later part. Ulysses, though, has had his time and I don't think he'd be showing up soon. But his legacy lives on, however, and it would be haunting to Six and everyone else, including RWBY and JNPR.**

 _ **Guest:**_ **Thanks for bringing those up. I'll look them up when I have the time. Today's a busy season with so many things happening but I'll see if I can watch some of their content. I'll be holding off on the Fallout 4 stuff though because I don't want to spoil myself yet. Again, thanks! :)**

 ** _Joe:_** **Thanks! I'm working on it. :)**

 **~o~**

 **Omake.**

* * *

He felt the vibrations in his gut and paled. It was that damn rumbling again. That unbearable, godforsaken ribbing in his abdomen that screamed for release. No, he was not secretly a woman (even if he was, he was sure this was not what that time of the month felt like). Instead, _someone_ had laced his flask with some damned laxative. A really strong one, too.

"I still have fifty stitches in my ass," he seethed through grit teeth while clutching onto the metal railing so hard it was difficult to tell which would break: his hands or the bannister.

"That's what you get for cheating on your rehab," Nora scolded.

"I've got shit worse than hemorrhoids and you're making me _shit like there's no tomorrow_!" Another growl and agonizing rumble meant that the dam was about to break. A mudflow was coming. He could feel the chunks crashing against his rectal dam and dreaded the red streaks that might trickle with it.

As if the universe had conspired to spite him, the nearest lavatory was a long walk away. Either he did his business in some dark corner or he muscle through it until he found a workable porcelain toilet in some abandoned apartment.

"Do you need butt wipes?" Pancake called.

 _Shut the fuck up!_ Six waved her off as he struggled down the street and stumbled into an alley. This will have to do. He had been through worse. It did burn though—those damn chili beans were literally biting him back in the ass.

An hour later, a Vegas hobo returned to his cardboard box to find that he needed a new one.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: March 10, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: March 24, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: March 24, 2018**


	13. Hangover

**NOTE: I'm sorry. I got carried away with this one.**

* * *

This was not the worst hangover he woke up to but it was still disorienting as all living hell. Dizzied and nauseous, Six straggled to his feet, wondering why his room looked all different...

 _Wait._

The Courier rubbed his eyes, grimaced at the burn, wiped his hands clean of his own dried vomit, and then rubbed his eyes again. He blinked several times until he could see some pale-skinned brunette snoozing comfortably in the same bed. _Shit._

The blanket covered most of her young frame. _Young._ Maybe a little too young. Maybe too young to be legal. _Shit. Fuck._

Here he stood, half-naked, trying to put on his clothes, staring dumbly at some broad who he may or may not have knocked up. Why did he come to that conclusion? Because he never carried protection on him. Because he never bothered with _that_ kind of comfort. Because people thought he had _fathered_ eight children somehow and he was damn determined not to actually _be_ a father. (Again.)

 _Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Goddamn it. Just be quiet, grab your all your shit, and sneak out as best you could. Maybe ask the Garretts downstairs what the fuck happened last night._ Six wanted to kick himself so bad. _Keep breaking your own damn rules. Keep telling yourself never get wasted outside the Lucky 38 and_ this _happens!_ He began reaching for his duster lying on a chair when she stirred.

And long bunny ears flopped out off the top of her head like folded rubber springs.

 _What in the living hell?_

For one, the girl was _not_ naked. Not completely, no. She was just in her nightie. Skimpy, scanty nightie. Additionally, she did not carry that atmosphere of being some decorated spinner. In fact, when he actually bothered to look around, the room was not in a complete mess. No clear signs of anything...steamy happening. Well, maybe she was being thorough. Maybe she was a...dominatrix?

He shuddered at the mental images of a mole-rat-looking broad in black leather. And he had damn well seen—no, _interacted_ —with literal mole-rat-looking broads on more than one occasion. Didn't help that they smelled like mole-rats, too.

Or they maybe just did it all on the bed. Who could really tell?

Weird. He scrunched his eyes. Her bunny ears looked too real. Either the Garretts got some animal fetish theme going on with their hookers or the chick just had a personal preference for that crap.

 _Focus, man! Get the fuck out and get back to the Strip. Check up on the kids, hope the tower's still standing. Damn it, my gear's all over the place! Can't risk losing anything right no—_

"Oh... You're awake."

 _Shit._

"That's alright... You don't have to rush... Last night was...interesting," she said meekly in some weird Briton accent. Was it Briton? British?

"Uh...right," he croaked, his back completely turned.

"It wasn't that bad. You looked like you really needed it."

 _She...liked it? The fuck did I do last night?_

"Don't worry about me. I enjoyed the company." She chuckled. "Though you were quite terrifying. Barging into my room like that..."

 _Oh. Shit. Rape. Fuck._

"Ah, sorry 'bout that." He breathed deep as he turned to face her, genuinely apologetic and awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

She beamed at him. And her bunny ears moved too. Her bunny ears _moved_. By themselves. When she flashed him that warm smile, those furry appendages straightened up.

"The...fuck...?"

Strangely, she laughed it off. Then she said, "You don't remember, do you? That's okay."

The cogs in his brain started to grind together more cohesively. Disjointed thoughts and pointed memories came together. _Oh, no. This can't be happening._

"You've been the most open person I've ever encountered since I...came...here. You...didn't react as badly as most when they saw my ears." She held out her hand. "Reintroductions should be in order, I suppose. I'm Velvet. Velvet Scarletina."

He wiped his hands before taking it. "Uh-huh... Um, nice to meet you...again... Miss Scarletina."

"Oh, you can just call me Velvet." Her ears bent over. "You already know what I really am after all that you said last night so...that makes me comfortable enough..."

The Courier could feel his eyes bug out of his sockets. _Please, no. Not another one!_ "What?"

"I'm faunus." She blushed. "Or part-rabbit, you could say."

Six felt the urge to swallow a live grenade. "Ah, shit."

* * *

The Courier rubbed circles over his temples over his mug of coffee while Velvet casually went through her morning tea and biscuits. Sure, breakfast at the Atomic Wrangler wasn't the best but at least he didn't have to worry about Pancake maniacally drilling him to abstain from alcohol.

"How much did I...?"

"Well, you were clearly out of it," the faunus answered timidly. Good thing most of the Wrangler's clientele slept in. The Garretts and their staff, along with most everyone else who stopped by this early, passed off her faunus traits as some silly decoration.

"Yeah, I got that," Six breathed. "What was I...what was..."

"Oh, we were just talking. Well, _you_ were talking. Uh, mostly you were just rambling on about taking care of teams RWBY and JNPR. You probably didn't think I was in the room. You were actually talking to yourself most of the time."

 _Is that what really happened?_ "Nothing...else? Nothing, um, untoward?"

She shook her head, a bit of mirth gracing the corners of her cheeks. "No. You didn't even _try_ to touch me. It was like I wasn't in the room. You just got into my bed, vomited on the side, and fell asleep."

Six was more relieved than embarrassed at that. _Could've been worse._

Velvet eyed him apologetically. "I don't mean to pry but you were mumbling...names and events, err, dates..." She raised her hands. "Nothing I bothered to remember!"

He sighed. _I guess I really should lay off a bit if I keep dropping hints like that when I'm that deep in the bottle._ "So...I guess the cat's out of the bag then."

The faunus shrugged. "It's the gossip of the town. Mister New Vegas would occasionally report about you...or, well, about RWBY and JNPR doing something bombastic. But hearing it from you... It was quite an interesting perspective." A proud smile stretched across her features. "Nothing quite surprising given their behavior. It's so much like them."

The Courier raised his brow at her. "So you know them?"

"We went to Beacon together." The mere mention of the academy's name clearly dampened her mood. "I'm a year ahead of them. I'm from team CFVY."

Six caught on but waited for her to compose herself and continue.

"Things...haven't been going well when I, uh, ended up here." A sigh. "Hope Coco and the others are doing okay," she muttered under her breath.

 _I don't need to know how that happened._ "How long have you been around? Here. In the wasteland."

"A week, so far."

 _Huh. Lucky you. Looks like the raiders didn't get you. Those bunny ears sure are a tempting target for any psycho junkie with a hard-on._ "What brought you here?"

"Trading caravan. They were friendly and very helpful. Taught me the basics, gave me some starting money, and pointed me in the right direction."

 _I don't know if this was even the right direction._ It was debatable about which was safer (or least dangerous): New Vegas proper or the open Mojave, NCR 'protection' be damned. "Uh-huh. So what are you going to do now?"

Velvet looked down and her ears followed. It got some short-lived curious looks from across the lounge. "I, uh...honestly, I'm not sure. I was hoping I'd run into some help. The Kings were quite amiable. The Followers were very generous but I don't think they'd be able to help given their situation. That leaves the NCR and...well...now that we're acquainted..."

Six raised his brow.

The rabbit faunus gulped, shuttered her eyes, then hesitantly met his waiting gaze. "... You."

 _Goddamn it._

* * *

"They have a very optimistic view of the world."

"Optimists are the first to get killed. Then the pessimists. That leaves the cynics and the realists to duke it out until the winner either gets eaten by a deathclaw somewhere or dies of dehydration."

Velvet scratched at the back of her head, feeling for the tips of her folded faunus appendages. Under his insistence, she tucked them under a wide-brimmed hat effectively concealing her heritage despite her discomfort. Not that she needed those extensions for anything other than extensive hearing, for all he knew. Perhaps she was used to having them out, about, and free. "I'm only saying that you should forgive them for being, um...ambitious?"

Six scoffed. "What a word. They're being fucking stupid. Trying to change the goddamn world overnight. Like that's even possible in my lifetime."

The faunus followed the Courier's lead by sidestepping around a tattered drunk sprawled across the sidewalk. "You can't blame them. It's what we've all been accustomed to."

He stopped and leaned under the awning hanging off an abandoned barber shop. "Oh? Is that what they teach you at Beacon? That, no matter where you are, no matter how fucked up the world is, you can still make it a better place? Even if there are people who _don't_ want it to be so?"

"I'm not saying—"

The Courier folded his arms and sighed. "Kid, I can't completely understand where you're coming from but I've a good picture of it. But just because it works at Remnant doesn't mean it works here on Earth, too."

"I know that."

Behind his visor, he raised a brow. "Really now."

Velvet clenched her fists. "Remnant is not a perfect world. But neither is here. And for your information, they're freshmen. They're still...hopeful."

"Right. And because you're a sophomore, that means you're as jaded as the vets out there?"

She glared at him. "Not what I meant! Look, I've been through that stage. I used to have that same degree of hope. But you can't just crush their hopes like that." Her eyes fell to the concrete, her mien downcast. "It...hurts."

Six pushed himself off the brick and mortar. _Get used to it._ "It's never painless." _I just hope you're more realistic and than Hyper and her merry band of idiots._

"Can you at least go easy on them?"

 _There's no other way._ "No guarantees." He held up his wrist to stifle her protests. Mainly because he felt the minute vibrations coming off his Pip-boy alerting him to some incoming messages. He angled away, concealing the names of the recipients from her. _Hsu. Huh, what does he want this time? And Raul? Huh._

"Is there...something..."

"Stay here," he ordered before he walked deeper into the alley to find out whatever urgent errand the NCR had.

* * *

Velvet was not fond of confrontations. So when one of Freeside's many roaming gangs surrounded her while she waited outside the alley, she did her best to weasel out of it. Unfortunately, they were just about what she expected them to be: persistent and hungry.

"Well, if it isn't the little bunny from the outback. Can't stay in the Wrangler forever, you know," the dominant one prodded, the smell of his breath nearly making her gag. "You looked really cute in them bunny ears."

"She's got a nice ass, too," another remarked.

Velvet squealed when a third grabbed her arm.

"Boys, I think we got ourselves a squeaker."

"This is gonna be good."

"Haven't been laid in a while."

"H-hey, s-stop it!" she pleaded, trying to pull her arms away from their grips. "Let me go!" She really hated having to resort to force.

"Stop squirming, bunny-girl," the leering alpha cooed. "We'll take care of everything from here."

Now a fourth one had wrapped his arms over her body, his filthy hands worming up to her chest. The rising growl in her throat died in a faint squeak when the leader of the group snatched her hat, exposing her appendages.

The new attraction amused them. "Holy shit. You still keep 'em on? Must really like being a bunny, eh?"

Then they tugged at them. It hurt. A lot.

"Huh. You glued 'em on or somethin'?" one of them scoffed. "Shit. Yeah, you really glued 'em on."

"S-stop it!" she gritted, her passive resistance waning. Any more and she would have to really _go wild_. The anger of a faunus is to be feared. Especially if it was a female.

"Shut up, bitch—"

A powerful shot echoed from within the alley. Velvet stared wide-eyed as the alpha dropped to the ground, crimson pooling through a clean hole above his left ear. The other three gawked dumbly before another deafening pop burst from the darkness, ripping through the man on her right, giving her free reign over her arm while he fell motionless onto the concrete.

The faunus blinked, recovered her suspended adrenaline, and let her natural training kick in. A quick sweep and a few punches later, the other two were on the ground writhing in pain. She swiveled on her heels to come face to face with the Courier brandishing a revolver.

"Shit," sputtered one of the panicked thugs. "Oh shit, oh shit!"

"Six! Thanks so much for the sav—" Velvet felt paralyzed at what happened next.

Six ignored the pleas of the two Freeside junkies. He squeezed twice, one bullet in each head. It was hard to tell what was behind that dusty old helmet as casually wiped off a few spatters, his entire face covered by that haunting combat mask. He strode over the corpses, smoking gun at his side, annoyed at this...chore.

"Y-you...t-they..." she stammered.

"No one's going to miss them," he said coldly. "You alright?"

She nodded edgily, heart pounding, mind comprehending her apparent 'rescue.'

"Good. We're taking a detour. East."

Velvet blinked. Everything she had learned so far about Courier Six was ringing true. "E-east?"

"We're going to meet with a friend of mine."

"But...the Strip is right there."

She could feel his glare from behind those tinted lenses. "East. No questions."

"O-okay."

It took another several hours for Velvet to come to grips with the deaths of those men—vile as they were—even as she followed Six through the outskirts of New Vegas, back into that damned desert, wondering whether or not she made the right choice of roping herself with a conscienceless killer over asking for help from a military government. Then again, military governments tended to field disciplined conscienceless killers into their ranks to fight undisciplined conscienceless killers out in the wilds.

She may have seen the cruel reality of Remnant—quirks of being a faunus—but Earth had a lot more to offer. And that made her damn well scared shitless.

* * *

 **NOTE: So...Velvet was _not_ supposed to be in the story. At all. Mainly because I felt there was not enough of her canon material for me to work with. Then again, when it came to progressing into the following day, I pulled up with the classic 'hangover'/'the day after' plot device and...I got carried away. So. Yeah. Velvet Scarletina is now officially a part of the plot (for now). And to think I've been telling myself and to some reviewers that I wouldn't be expanding the cast... Ah, well. Plans change.**

 **Now. I was surprised by the reactions I got towards RWBY's resolve in the last chapter. Rest assured, RWBY and JNPR will get a very impactful, and perhaps even painful, reality check. It's going to take awhile to flesh out properly. As to why I developed them that way, I was basing off of their optimism and idealism during the Volumes 1 and 2...when they were still "unbroken" in a sense.**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for the continued support, input, and insights. Hope you guys continue to enjoy this story. Let me know what you think of this, uh, development. :)**

 **Also, here's a bonus.**

* * *

Velvet stared at this stranger wobbling at the foot of her bed, at a loss for words, her mind wavering between confused and afraid. Here she lay in a dry room, in revealing discount nightwear, away from her team—from anyone she knew—and at the mercy of this tall, unkempt prowler who had kicked down the door to her room.

Her hands felt numb from clutching the duvet over her chest. Light Copies sat on the nightstand next to her but she worried that any sudden move might cause him to lash out at her. Or at least, that was what her paranoid self was screaming in the back of her mind.

Because all this intruder did was ramble incoherently, swinging his arms around and spilling a alcohol all over the floor. For the past half hour. With her natural hearing, she could pick out the minute details being said. Or mumbled. Or groused. Or gargled. Yeah, his life story...

"Uh, mister...?" she tried for the fourth time.

"Fuckin' Hyper and her fuckin' scythe-gun!" he rambled. "Like she fuckin' knows what it's fuckin' like out there in the goddamn desert..."

He took another swig before stumbling over to her right. Velvet edged away despite his clear ignorance of her presence.

"I should've fuckin' left 'em in the fuckin' desert...should've left 'em to rot...in the fuckin'... Fuck... What the hell were you thinkin', eh, Six? You done fucked up again, 'ya did!" A burp. "Screwed over the best squad you could pull out of your fuckin' ass since...since...since Ar'zona..."

"Mister, please, you're—"

"Wond'r how V'ronica's takin' it... Ah, who the fuck am I kidding? She'll knock my damn head off... Like she'll ever fuckin' understand the big picture... Damn... I done really fucked that up... 'Vegas Nine' no more. I'll toast to that!"

The faunus decided to reach out to him to calm him but he recoiled away, raising his near empty bottle to the coat rack and taking a long swig.

"Hope Arcade's doin' well... Don't drop the soap, Arc! Eh, you'd probably like it..." He crawled onto her bedside. Somehow, despite his bloodshot eyes brushing over her form, he still thought she was nothing but air. Even the neon sign flashing outside her window did little to convince him that she was right there. "Cassidy Caravan's back in business! If Boone won't put you under, Cass will! That's a fuckin' slogan right there..."

Wait. What was that about Cassidy Caravans? Does he know Miss Cassidy? And Mister Boone?

"Mister, you need to sit down..."

The stranger, a big bulky man who could have easily stood a foot taller than Headmaster Ozpin (it was hard to tell in the dim lighting), haphazardly undressed, gave up halfway, and groggily pushed himself onto the vacant spot on her bed. "Fuckin' whiny-ass kids...an' their high-maintenance bullshit...costin' me fuckin' every cap... Spent whole fuckin' years raisin' funds like that an' they come an' fuckin' funnel 'em down the drain... Makin' everythin' fuckin' complicated... Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that..."

Velvet watched him mumble himself to sleep. Confused and bordering between amused and worried. She started to relax after she heard snoring. "Huh... That could have gone differently."

The man suddenly spasmed, heaved, and promptly vomited his dinner onto the floor.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me..."

The snoring resumed immediately thereafter.

The faunus gawked. Her mind tried to process everything once again but petered out half way through. She was already too tired to care. She had been walking for miles, through the unforgiving desert, around ruined buildings, passed homeless gangs to finally get some respite. And _this_ happens.

Velvet groaned out her frustrations, letting her head drop back onto her pillow. Her whole body was still aching from the travel and she would really snap if she was so much deprived of any more hours of sleep. So she shuffled to the farthest edge of her side, ignoring the stench, and drifted back to sleep. She would deal with this first thing in the morning.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: March 24, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: March 31, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: March 31, 2018**


	14. Goodsprings

"Got something in that pot?"

Raul nodded, lifting the tin lid to let the appetizing scent of the broth settle in the air around them. "Rare specialty. Never thought I'd see another one of these until I saw the tracks."

Six huffed. "Got lucky. Thought they'd be extinct by now."

The ghoul shook his head. "No, no. They're everywhere, boss. Stable numbers, no need to really cull the herd. You'd be surprised by the _caballos_ running around down in Texas."

Velvet took her place beside the fire pit, savoring the warmth of the flames. The Mojave desert had a climate unlike any she had ever experienced on Remnant. And she had been to all four kingdoms during her childhood. By day, it was as hot as Vacuo in the summer. By night, it dropped to the icy chill of Atlas. At least she was adjusting well.

Raul laid out three bowls, pouring in good portions of steaming soup with slices of meat and vegetables grown from his little garden patch outside his modest shack.

The faunus welcomed the scent, relishing the comforting heat that bristled through her fingers. Odd. The stew itself was marvelous but it felt...odd. Somewhat. Something felt off. She couldn't put her finger on it but she was too grateful for the food that she kept her peace. Besides, it would be disrespectful to the mechanic who was known to have lived for over two hundred years and witnessed firsthand the deadly fires the consumed Earth.

"So, _hija_. How are you feeling?" the mechanic started.

Velvet licked her lips clean before answering. "Better. The food is lovely, Mister Raul."

Whatever the ghoul had in response to that flattery died in his throat the moment she took off her hat. And let her ears spring free.

It was so good to have them out and about again. Having them tucked and folded for hours really put a strain on her muscles there. It took her another moment to feel the silence. She opened her eyes to see Raul lean over to Six. She couldn't help but overhear.

"You should have told me what she was, boss."

"My bad."

"You do know what I was cooking, right?"

"She doesn't have to know."

"Are you sure? I don't want to upset her. I mean, if she really is one of those animal-people..."

"I once fed the kids dog meat. Even Cat-girl ate it. Besides, Velvet's mature enough. I'm pretty sure she won't overreact over eating rabbit stew—"

Velvet choked. Loudly. She gaped at the bowl in her hands, the remaining bits of meat floating in the soup.

"Huh, she figured it out, boss."

"Ah, shit. I forgot she had good hearing."

Raul sighed. "It's okay, _hija_. I can get you something else."

Velvet felt sick. Sick at herself for inadvertently disrespecting the ghoul's selfless hospitality and sick at the fact that she may have committed something taboo. Unless cannibalism was acceptable here on Earth... Was this really cannibalism? She slowly angled her head. Six was staring at her. "I... I, uh..."

The Courier shook his head, growled something vulgar under his breath, and took the bowl out of her hands. "Ever heard of the Ultra Luxe, Bunny-girl?"

She gulped.

* * *

Goodsprings boasted nothing beyond its natural spring reservoirs. Compared to everything they have had to live off of outside of the Strip, the mineral waters pumped out of the ground in this wooden oasis was a godsend. That and the open kindness of the locals.

"For bein' the 'wonder kids' o' New Vegas, you look the part," remarked Sunny Smiles, the resident game hunter.

Yang chuckled as she capped off her canteen. "Yeah, we do stick out." She bent down to lift the two other jugs of water that had been refilled and nodded at Pyrrha who hefted her share of their water supply. They began the trek back to the town under the orange light of the setting sun.

"So what brought y'all here to the Mojave?"

The blonde glanced at the Mistralian who had nothing prepared for that inquiry. "Um, well, we, uh... We sort of, you know, uh, wanted to, um, see more of the world."

Sunny smiled at that. "Heh, guess I can't blame you. Ain't no use in bein' sheltered most o' your life."

"Can't really say sheltered but it's, um, close enough to that, yeah." Yang glanced again at Pyrrha who kept going up the trail. Why did she have handle keeping their cover? That was supposed to be Weiss's job! Ice Queen got lucky with the coin tosses. Then again, this was a good opportunity to ask around a bit. "So, uh, this is where, um, you know, ah...it all started. Right?"

"You mean where Old Green Eyes 'rose from the grave'? Yeah. Right up the cemetery. Lots o' folks come here askin' 'round about it since the war. Pretty annoyin' but gives us a bit of business."

"I can understand why," mumbled Pyrrha.

"Yeah. You survive gettin' shot in the head, buried alive, and a damn all out war. People'll start askin' 'bout you. That's one way to get famous. Or infamous."

"What was he like?" Yang pressed. "You know, right after he got dug up?"

"Messed up. Ugly scar on his forehead, stitches on his face. Doc Mitchell did his best but you can't really fix a skull that's been shot up more than once."

"Was he, um..."

"He wasn't as bad as most people out there say," Sunny contested coolly. "Sure, he did some things that'd pro'lly give Doc Mitchell a heart attack but that's what you gotta do to survive out there. Besides, you can't really believe what you hear."

Yang and Pyrrha let out some nervous chuckles.

"Anyway, thanks again for your help back there. Raiders been gettin' desperate lately. You gotta to be pretty stupid to try to beat down on Goodsprings."

Pride beamed from the blonde. "Well, they messed with the wrong people."

"Odd that they slipped through the NCR patrols," Pyrrha mused.

Sunny let out a dry snort. "Stickin' to the roads is what they've been doin' for the past couple years. An' the raiders ain't dumb. You'd think that with all the taxes we have to pay that they'd put in a sheriff's office like what they got down in Primm. I reckon we're not that worth protecting."

"That's not right," Yang protested.

"Ain't nothin' right. NCR tells you one thing, they do the other. If anythin', they're not as good as what they think they are but they aren't as bad as what everyone else says 'bout 'em. But that's just me."

Pyrrha hummed. "Fair enough judgment."

"So your old man's fine with you goin' all the way out here?" Sunny asked.

The blonde did her best to deliver the lie. It was becoming a bittersweet comfort having to constantly sell that illusion, especially now that she could picture Taiyang's head on his shoulders and Qrow's flask in his hand. "Yeah. He won't mind. We can take care of ourselves."

"Say, where were y'all headed to anyway?"

"Oh, nowhere specific, really." Yang chanced furious glances back at Pyrrha. _Back me up here, P-Money!_ "You know, ah, finally visit Primm and, uh, you know, um..."

"Go sightseeing," Pyrrha injected flawlessly. "We've always wanted to see the statues at the Mojave Outpost."

Sunny paused mid-stride, clearly puzzled. "I thought you were from California."

"Ah, no. Well, not really."

"Utah? I heard there were some good settlements up there."

"Can't really say," Pyrrha worded, her green irises flickering to Yang. _We need a better cover!_

Thankfully, Goodsprings came into view, ending Sunny's inquiry. "Ah, well. Guess it ain't my business to pry." They came up to the road, reaching the saloon and picking up a salivating scent wafting through the walls. "Smells like Trudy's gotten started on our steaks..."

An explosion erupted in the near distance followed by a shrill but familiar ecstatic howl and a normally calm voice echo 'Nora!' over the rolling hills.

"...and I think your sister's discovered our dynamite stash."

Pyrrha sighed and set down the jugs as another blast sent shockwaves across the canyon. "I'll go get Ren and Nora."

* * *

Ruby stared down at the grave marker.

The haphazard wooden cross sat atop the plot of land where Six "rose from the dead" a few years ago. This was where his journey to the top of the Mojave began. This was where he began a vendetta that would carve through the wasteland, leaving hundreds—maybe even thousands—dead in his wake. Whether by his hand or by his word, people died.

"Hey," Blake prodded.

"Six is a good person. I know it. You know it, right, Blake?"

The faunus felt her voice die in her throat. She did not know how to answer that. After all that they've learned about the man, it was becoming difficult to see him in a different light. "He's...he's..."

"He's not a bad person. Not entirely."

"Ruby...I believe you." Blake had to choke out the words but they were no lie. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I could ask you all the same thing."

"We're all powering through this, Ruby. We're doing this to help."

Ruby nodded, letting the moment pass in the silence. She breathed deep, once again going through the figures. Desert Ranger, NCR contractor, rebel, fugitive, mailman—a storybook service record for a man tossed under the soil she was standing over. And the estimates. The chilling estimates.

From what she heard, the Desert Rangers were like Remnant's Huntsmen, serving and defending, heroes of this arid, sandy wasteland. NCR contractors, on the other hand, often blurred the lines. Rebels reminded her of the White Fang. Fugitives though were nothing short of criminals the likes of Roman Torchwick. But mailmen... He was a courier, the 'Sixth' in a conspiracy that changed the landscape of the Mojave.

All it took was one bullet.

Ruby let her fingers trace her belt, running through her limited supply of ammunition for Crescent Rose. The absence of Dust meant that their weapons were strictly last resorts. She could feel the weight of the five-fifty-six magazines pocketed in satchels on a separate bandolier slung over her shoulder. She still had to get used to NCR's standard-issue carbines, shoddy as most of them were.

At least the one she picked had been well-maintained and fine-tuned by skilled gunsmiths. "Is everyone...?"

"Yang and Pyrrha are coming back up from the water run. Ren and Nora dropped the raiders off at the shack down at the intersection. An NCR patrol should have picked them up by now." Blake rested her palm on her shoulder. "Come on, Ruby. We should head back to the saloon."

"Yeah. Let's."

Ruby threw a final glance at the taunting poetic epitaph chiseled on the wooden cross before departing the Goodsprings cemetery:

' _Here lied Old Green Eyes, risen from the dead_

 _Pity the bastard who shot him in the head'_

* * *

 **NOTE: College is kicking me in the 'nads. I feel this chapter isn't much but I made sure to move it along. A bit of character development or something close to it, I guess.**

 **~o~**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **It's cool. I can understand that. Sometimes you need a break (Lord knows I need one) and that's healthy.**

 **Well, there's a reason why the NCR is not always a welcome presence in the Mojave. I haven't played the game in years but I clearly remember one of the NPCs from Northern Vegas talking about how they don't need the Republic. You could _feel_ the venom dripping from his voice when he said [non-verbatim], "We don't need some damn Republic."**

 **The Republic has its moments. They have as many altruists as they have troublemakers. And the direction of their humanitarian efforts in New Vegas seem justified. After all, Pacer's faction in the Kings did initiate the open violence (but the hostility was always present) and apparently the NCR humanitarians have had enough of turning the other cheek.**

 **Six gets mad at petty things. He gets even for the really serious matters. ;)**

 **Again, thanks for your thoughts on the Velvet chapter. I really didn't think it would be that suspenseful. Alas, I realised that I posted it on April Fools' Day until the following day. I really am frazzled out of my mind. :P**

 **~o~**

 **Maybe I missed something or something didn't add up, let me know. Hope you guys like it and share your thoughts on it.**

 **Omake.**

* * *

"At least let me buy you a drink."

Weiss eyed him. That dirty brimmed hat that was apparently a favorite among the locals hung off the back of his head from the cord around his neck. His blonde hair glistened with oily sweat from the Mojave heat. And while his training with Pyrrha was visible with his rolled up sleeves, he was still leagues away from her standards.

"Come on, Weiss. Let me have this. I'll just cover our tabs. That's it."

There was no harm in it, she thought. "Fine."

Jaune beamed in relief. He held up two fingers to Trudy, the owner and bartender of the Goodsprings saloon, who poured them each a glass of flavored cacti juice. He slid the heiress her drink while he raised his own. "A toast?"

"Really, Jaune?"

He sighed. "Weiss, let me treat you as a friend. Please."

She raised her brow at him. They were friends, after all. She treated him as a friend. An annoying pest of a 'friend' but a friend nonetheless.

"I know we've had a rough day but at least we're all alive."

She regarded him for a bit. And felt a little angry at herself. He wasn't flirting. He wasn't even trying to flirt. But covering her tab? No. It was just a friendly gesture. A warm, caring gesture. And the small talk? Clearly no underlying tone. Just harmless small talk. He didn't even call her 'Ice Queen', 'Snow Angel' or any of those stupid sobriquets.

Weiss mentally scolded herself for being so ungrateful. She tapped her glass with his. "It has been a troublesome day."

"I know, right?" he replied with a wide grin before taking a large gulp. "Could've been worse. I mean, it was like they ran out of bullets and just started chucking dynamite at us."

"That was exactly the case, Jaune."

"Yeah, but hey. At least we came out alive and on top."

Weiss let her lips curve a little. She was proud of what they had accomplished here in Goodsprings. No casualties on their side (the raiders would need a lot of medical attention, though). "Your stance was a little off and your aim was horrible."

"Hey, I'm learning," he replied with a cheeky smile. He didn't know it but he threw a playful jab her way. And she liked it.

"Don't jinx our luck," she answered with a quiet chuckle.

"Aww, ain't that the sweetest sibling moment I've seen in a long while," Trudy teased. "You must like to rib each other from time to time."

Jaune choked on his drink while Weiss nearly spat out hers. Of course. His hand went up to scratch the back of his head while the heiress hid her face behind her ponytail. They glanced across the table but snapped away with awkward, if not nervous, chuckles.

"Yeah, heh. We're pretty close," the blonde Huntsman-in-training sheepishly noted.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: April 7, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: April 17, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: April 14, 2018**


	15. Valley

_I knew it._

"I was hoping I wouldn't see that glint in your eye again, boss," Raul quipped.

The Courier let his fingers knead the strip of rubber he picked up from the ghoul's worktable to relieve his mounting anger. "You don't have to worry about me." _All this damn time... We were being played. I was being played._

The ghoul leaned back on his chair, clearly unconvinced. "If you ask me, this job has got 'bogus' written all over it. You know I could go out there and 'investigate these anomalies' in your place. I'm just concerned about what exactly you'd be doing in the meantime."

 _Sorry, Raul, but you'd kill me if I told you._ "Something personal."

"Boss, those 'U.S. Army prototypes' you discovered in that mine not too long ago... There were a couple that looked suspiciously similar over at Fort Mead. Pristine condition. Commonwealth stripes on the arms and legs just like you said. Nothing like anything I've ever seen."

 _I trust your judgment on that._ "Someone was in that cave before we went in. Fresh oil on one of the tables. Warm casings. I brought the kids with me and they knew I'd be bringing the kids."

"Probably engineers went in to make the set-up look more convincing, keep the rigs well-oiled for you." The ghoul ran his fingers through the strips of hair that still remained above his lip. "You think it was an assassination attempt?"

 _Maybe._ "Nah. Hsu's too moral for that. It was probably some kind of distraction or something." _Or trying to gauge that the kids really are the Remnant wonders he's been suspecting all this damn time._ Six peaked over his shoulder. Velvet's curved form sat huddled over by the corner of the shack, wrapped in a warm blanket, the steady rise and fall of her sides as she slept.

"So the NCR basically sent you on some wild goose chase to check up on something they planted in a mine that they knew was going to cave in. Sounds like an assassination attempt."

The Courier shook his head. "I doubt it. Hsu knows that killing me would make things worse around here."

"What makes you say that?"

"Trust me. I wrapped the bastard in enough chains to make him second-guess the keys to the padlock." _But he still wiggles his fingers around to pull a Houdini on me. Well, there's always a limit to playing with the Republic's own bureaucracy._

"And the little _diablos_?"

Six remained silent, staring at the shadows inhabiting the corner of the ghouls' meager living space. "They're my responsibility. First things first, I'll check up on 'em." He kneaded the rubber harder only for it to bend and rip under his whitening knuckles.

"Boss, I told you: the general commissioned them on something. That something is over west."

"I know, I know. Thanks for the info." The Courier stood.

"Boss?"

"I'll check up on the kids, make sure they don't shoot themselves in the foot. Take care of Bunny-girl for me. Don't let her out of your sight."

Raul got to his feet only to meet his palm.

"I don't want to burden you with this one. Just keep that rabbit safe. It's all I'm asking."

"Boss. Knowing what you saw there, I can only hope my intel is off."

Six smirked. "All the more reason for me to get them out of trouble before it finds them." He tapped him on his shoulder before slinging his repeater over his head and making for the door.

"... Don't get yourself killed."

 _I can't guarantee that._ "See you soon, buddy."

"Stay safe."

Meanwhile, in the back of the room, Velvet's ears collapsed back onto her head, her gaze cemented on the sheet metal in front of her face. RWBY and JNPR were dispatched west while the Courier was made to go east. Why? Was something big going on? Were her only Remnant friends whom she had yet to be reunited with in danger? She could not risk it. She can't.

It was bad enough seeing Remnant burn before her eyes while she was helpless and wrenched away to this new world. She could not afford to see another disaster befall her only trustworthy friends at this point.

Velvet relaxed on her side, sleep avoiding her well after she heard Raul's snores from his worktable.

* * *

All the information the NCR could provide them had little words to accurately describe the Divide. The place was a twisted canyon of bent steel and broken concrete, a place where, in Ruby's mind, Goliath Grimm would go to die. The air was dry, odorless, and rife with searing sand-ridden breezes.

"This," Weiss breathed, "This...is where Samson is kept?"

"It would make a lot of sense," Blake said. "No one would want to come here unless they're either desperate or..."

"They've got something to hide," Yang completed.

Jaune wiped the sweat off his face, letting the muffler around his neck soak up most of the residue while he wiped dirt and sand off himself. He sat on a boulder as did the rest of his team and began massaging his legs. "We're already here so... We rest for a bit. This is a nice overwatch position."

Ruby nodded. The deathly wind drafting up the cliff face towards their perch rippled through her cloak, sending a shiver down her spine despite the bravest facade she could put up. She bent down to heap a pile of stones in a cup to sufficiently steady the rifle barrel of Crescent Rose—a karmic tic knowing that Six taught her to do it at Cottonwood.

"I'll keep watch."

Pyrrha motioned at her. "I'll switch with you in thirty minutes. We have about an hour on this perch."

The reaper nodded, her carbine slung off to her side while she lay prone against the jagged gravel to shoulder Crescent Rose. Limited on Dust rounds as they were, she would be willing to expend half her supply for this leg of their mission. Overwatch had never felt so tense.

* * *

Save for a few straggling mutated bugs, the valley was desolate. Despite this, everyone in both teams RWBY and JNPR-S shared the nagging feeling of being watched. Someone in the buildings? Just rebar. Figure on the highway? Dead body. Shadows up ahead? A skirmish between NCR and Legion forces.

Wait.

NCR troops? Legionaries?

The teens scattered behind cover while they checked to make sure none among the things they saw were moving.

"We clear?"

"I think so."

"You should go first."

Slowly, RWBY and JNPR-S crept to the junction, blades drawn and carbines unslung. Tattered NCR combat dress, broken cuirasses, cracked legionary kits. Except the men themselves were...

"Oh my..." Weiss covered her mouth out of instinct.

The bodies were all flayed. Dried, exposed muscle. The teams did not know which was more horrifying: that these soldiers were skinned alive or were skinned after they died. What sadistic bastard would go so far as to tear the flesh off human beings whole? Sure, they've heard stories of psycho raiders and desperate cannibalistic survivalists but who else could be inhabiting the Divide to even bother with this?

"Look at the bodies," suggested Pyrrha.

"What else is there to look at?" whined Jaune.

The redhead shook her head. "Look at how they're arranged. Their bodies... They're all facing east. The direction of their attacks were...where we came from."

"That means..." Blake was visibly confused. "They...united. Why?"

"Six," Yang echoed, her nails digging into her palms. "Who else? He's hiding something here. These guys got in the way and he didn't want to leave witnesses behind. And he clearly left a message to anyone who was pushing too deep."

Nora hummed in thought, conveniently having turned away from the grisly sight to concentrate. "So...what were the NCR and the Legion doing here in the first place?"

"My guess? Since the Divide used to be a part of the Republic, this was a scouting party that ran into these Legion guerrillas," Blake worded. "Then again, how the Legion got this many men this far west in the Mojave proper..."

Weiss waved dismissively. "Another mystery that we'll have to solve later."

On the edge of the intersection, Ruby surveyed the distant ruins of Hopeville. The eerie silence emanating from the twisted concrete towers was enough to put her on edge. If there were any Grimm on Earth, this would be the perfect place for them to nest. She shuddered at the memories of the Breach—come to think of it, Mountain Glenn was much more soothing compared to this place.

"We should be on our guard," Ren reminded them. "Mutants might be hiding in the cracks."

The two teams collected themselves. "Watch for traps too," Jaune added, having finally steeled his nerves. "Keep an eye out for any blinking lights or weird mounds. They could be mines."

Ruby nodded. "The sooner we get to Samson, the closer we'll be to some answers."

* * *

Some of those answers came in the form of an ambush. By the flayed men.

It all happened so fast that instinct kicked in. Ruby and Jaune barked orders while they maneuvered around the fissured intersection, deflecting strikes and dodging bullets. Their individual Semblances meshed effectively with skill and gunpowder, stopping short of relying on their irreplaceable Dust supply. There was a lot of gunfire, a lot of close calls, but the young Huntsmen- and Huntresses-in-training dominated the fight.

Until Yang, fueled by the raging fire of her Semblance, threw a fist against the head of the last remaining enemy, the combined force of both her punch and the discharge of the Dust-filled buckshot in her ballistic gauntlet causing his neck to snap, his skull to crack and shatter, and the rest of his head to disappear in a puffy crimson cloud of bone and membrane splattering against the concrete. His limp body dropped in front of the now mortified blonde.

Teams RWBY and JNPR-S stood in dumbfounded silence, panting and sweating even after the adrenaline subsided.

Nora slowly and fearfully gawked down at the body below her heel, his chest unmoving and his whole arm gone. Pyrrha nearly dropped her Garand while Weiss stumbled back onto her rear. Out of the dozen or so flayed men who emerged out of the rubble to murder them, four were clearly dead, punctured with holes and eviscerated. By their hands. Their first true kills in the month that they had been here. The reality was suffocating, emerging finally from the back of their minds. It didn't help that Syrup had begun nipping at the corpses, the grisly sound of bone and flesh crunching in its jaw echoing off the rubble.

The numbing stillness lasted three seconds.

Then it all came crashing down.

* * *

The NCR First Recon unit reported back to Fort Mead late in the evening following a week-long excursion into Legion-held Arizona. To the surprise of the entire garrison, the ragged eight-man squadron was followed by a ragtag bunch of "freed Legion slaves," the irony sinking in due to the fact that Fortification Hill was rechristened Fort Mead to kill the place's legacy as a paragon for slavery.

Most of the poor bunch were confused and wondering where they were. It was not uncommon and nothing that the military doctors, civilian shrinks, and generous NCR rations wouldn't fix. And then there were the two people who apparently led the slave revolt that figuratively broke their chains. Figuratively in the sense that they were still unable to break their strangely unbreakable slave collars which, for some alarming reason, was able to withstand direct shots from high-caliber bullets.

The two individuals were segregated from the bunch and relegated to a room while the base commander contacted the brass at McCarran. Six hours later, General James Hsu stood before the odd pair in a sealed tent reserved for high-profile interrogations.

"You have some unique slave collars."

"You are astute, general," one of them replied with a salvaged air of formality.

"Before we even attempt to try and get those devices off of you, I found it best if I personally brief you on where you stand right now."

"What prompted that if you don't mind us asking?" the other inquired.

"It's the only option I have that would not compromise your origins."

"Pardon, sir. Origins?"

"You're neither the first nor last people to come from Remnant." Hsu skillfully concealed his mirth at their reactions. "Welcome to Nevada."

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: March 24, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: May 2, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 2, 2018**

 **NOTE: Time to get serious, folks. There's a time to laugh and a time to cry as the Good Book says.**

 **~o~**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **Thanks! So far, I got a ribbing and a nut-kicking but my paper _and_ my academic creative output is still somewhat solid. Hope I graduate, heh.**

 **As for the kids' reactions to Raul and ghouls in general, I decided to skip it. It has been written before in other fics by other authors and I simply cannot see how to make it anymore unique from those. However, I haven't really abandoned the idea. I'm still juggling their reactions to super-mutants and feral ghouls in my head so rest assured and it may not be necessarily RWBY, JNPR, or V freaking out over 200-year-old "dead men walking." So it might come up sooner or later, probably an omake if I can't make it work.**

 **~o~**

 **I have a few other omakes not related to this plot but set in the same universe with the same crass Six in center. I'm holding off on those for now.**

 **Anyway, once again, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think. I may have missed something or gotten something wrong or maybe gotten off track so, yeah, call me out on it. :)**


	16. Hopeville

The motorbike sputtered and finally died (again) halfway up the canyon outside Primm. Six hopped off, salvaged what he could use from the vehicle, and collected his equipment before starting the trek up to the crevasse. By his clock, he would already be in the Divide by sundown.

Once more, his Pip-boy beeped and he brought it up to see the blinking icons flashing in the corner of the screen. Another sentry triggered. Someone was messing around Hopeville. They were getting close, tripping sensor after sensor. Getting too close.

 _These kids are going to be the death of me_ , he growled in his mind, his nails digging deep into his gloved palms. He did not mean to rip the metal doors off its hinges but he felt nothing but pent-up fury when he set foot back into the accursed canyon.

 _Goddamn it, kids. You don't know what the hell you're doing._

* * *

Velvet was determined.

Raul had caught her early that morning, developing a functional replica of the ghoul's personal motorcycle with Light Copies. Six had already departed with the other but an extra kick in horsepower (courtesy of boosters salvaged from an old armory filled with high-tech weaponry somewhere in the desert) convinced her that she could catch up to him and perhaps even teams RWBY and JNPR before anything bad happened.

"Wait... You're not going to stop me?" she had asked.

He chuckled, then offered a warm smile. " _Hija_ , I've known him long enough to know that he is not making the wisest of decisions. I have known many people who have lost themselves to their own idiocy and he is skirting the edges of it."

"So...you're helping me then. Right?"

He approached her, reached into the inside of his jacket, and handed her a pistol. "You're going to need this."

"But I—"

"For your own protection. I know you can shoot."

"I'm not that good with guns." She took it regardless and allowed Raul to buckle the holster to her waist. "But this is the one where you slide the magazine in, right? Not the manual loading thing?"

" _Si_. Quick rate of fire, strong punch. Just push it up in here, pull the slide back, and you're good. Be aware of the safety switch. This one uses forty-five ACP ammunition. Remember it. Forty-five A-C-P. Automatic Colt pistol, in case they ever ask. _Comprende_?"

She nodded. "Y-yes. Forty-five ACP. Automatic Colt pistol, got it."

"Good. Here. Some additional caps and some bills for any picky traders you come across."

"Still... Why are you helping me though? You're his friend, right?"

A chuckle. "Boss and I go way back. I care for his hide as much as he cares for your friends. He's too thick to admit it. And I know better than to keep you here while he does something stupid."

"He seems smarter than that."

" _Si_ , he is. But there is a limit to intelligence and stubbornness to wisdom. Know that he is as much the victim as he is the predator. He is a victim of himself and if you ask me, I'd rather he not make the little _diablos_ victims of his own guilt."

"I guess so... I can understand where he's coming from." Velvet had heard much and had even read some of the published material (biased as most of them were).

"With what little you know, it is easy to assume."

"He was a Desert Ranger, a hero...I think. I keep hearing good things about them."

Raul smiled but his gaze was forlorn. "Heroes come and go. He is...someone else now. And as long as I'm still here, I won't let him fall down the rabbit hole any further." A pause. "No pun intended."

Velvet deflated. Perhaps some of the other rumors weren't just rumors. Maybe that explained why the trading caravan that rescued her were very careful with their words whenever they talked about Courier Six or how he used to work with their boss Miss Cassidy at some point in the past. "What happened to him?"

"Another story for another day. If you can get it out of him, then better. It's not healthy for him not talking about it."

"He did say a lot...when he was drunk."

"I'm sure he did. Up to you with how you manage what you know."

Velvet beamed. "Thank you. For your help, Mister Raul."

" _De nada_ , _de nada_ ," he waved. "You and I have a lot in common, after all. We are both no strangers to judgment and from that we learn to withhold our judgment until the truth reveals itself to us. Then we act accordingly."

Her lips curled into a comfortable grin. Ghouls would probably have a much worse reception than faunus but then again, the discrimination here was a war crime compared to the misdeeds of the worst bigots on Remnant. With that in mind, she felt an invigorating camaraderie with him.

The ghoul leaned in to inspect the camera and then the box. "You have a nice device there. You take pictures of things and it makes a working 3D copy. _Madre de Dios_ , what I wouldn't do for that. You say you made this yourself?"

"Yes," she replied with a meek but prideful blush. "Took me six whole months."

A haughty laugh. "Youth these days. Ah, but you might have missed a few spots. Like that one right there..."

Raul pointed out the chinks in the armor and Velvet was quick to adjust. She was ready for the road in ten minutes.

"He tends to go overboard so be careful. And make sure the little _diablos_ are in one piece," he bade as he handed her a satchel with some salted jerky and sterilized medical supplies.

"You can count on it, Mister Raul," she answered confidently, revving the engine in deafening cacophonies. All she had to do was follow the highway west through South Vegas, then down to Goodsprings, up until she reached Primm, and from there west up to a crevasse between the cliffs.

She was determined to find RWBY and JNPR. Though she was not very close with them, they were the only fragments of Remnant in this cruel wasteland and she desperately needed that comfort and familiar camaraderie if she were to keep her psyche alive because if she were to admit it at some point later on, she had considered giving up more times than she could count.

"And one more thing, _hija_. Don't run over any _conejos_. A lot of them on the road nowadays."

"I won't."

A mile into her trip, Velvet was distraught at having run over a stray desert cottontail. It took her another fifteen minutes to peel and scrape the roadkill off the tires. And like hell was she cooking the meat!

* * *

Their trail may have been a day old but it was still fresh. Boot marks, ashes in a pit, a damp patch of soil. Then the expended cartridges laying about. Untarnished brass ranging from five-five-sixes, twelve-gauges, three-oh-eights, and a single casing the size of a fifty-caliber nestled under some rocks that were propped to hold the barrel of a sniper rifle.

The shape and smell confirmed it. _Dust round. This is Hyper's bullet._

Six descended the perch and proceeded down the all-familiar path. More expended casings. A crater that wasn't there before. Mutant corpses that had been gutted in half and eviscerated. And then, the remains of the Marked Men.

"They're losing it," he said to no one but himself.

The dead were lined neatly on the side of the road, their legs bunched together, arms folded over their chests, pickets and posts planted by their heads to mark where they lay. Maggots had already begun devouring the flesh but he was at least spared the odor by the filters in his mask.

 _Still have much of a conscience to give them an old-fashioned sky burial._

The Courier continued walking until a tiny yellow dots flashed between the cracks in the rubble. He detoured to one of the trails running up the side of the canyon eventually reaching a modified perch overlooking a district of Hopeville, one of many overwatch nests he had prepared ahead of time. He did needed neither his scope nor his binoculars to see what was sitting half a mile in front of him.

There, inside one of the few standing buildings in Hopeville, through the glassless windows, were his brats. His kids. His children.

 _No. They're not my flesh and blood. Get that out of your system._

There was Hyper. And Blondie. Snowball and Cat-girl. To the right behind the furniture...that was Sparta and Knight-boy feeding that annoying piece of shit Syrup. Shaolin was cooking something over the fire pit while Pancake tried cheering up the whole group. It wasn't working as effectively as she had hoped.

 _No._

Six sighed. "Shit."

He finally pulled out his binoculars and peered closer. If the looks on their faces were anything to go by, then he had clearly failed in one of his goals as their guardian.

 _Innocence finally lost. You done fucked up again, Six._

 _I never wanted to be their guardian in the first place._

 _And here you are. Guilty because their purity was your responsibility. A responsibility you willingly shouldered. A 'responsibility' you knew better to ignore. A lesson you should have learned since Arizona._

 _I know._

Following a quick sweep of the perimeter and a brief check of his equipment, he proceeded back down towards Hopeville. _Time to end this charade._ He was halfway to the town proper when the distinct pops of an automatic carbine ripped through the still air.

* * *

Velvet was shivering stiff by the time she came across the other motorbike discarded and picked apart by the side of the road. She wiped off the bugs that splattered over her goggles before sliding them off and unwrapping her shawl to give her moistened skin some air. It felt so good to _breathe_!

She really hated the travel. Her trip was rocky so to speak; she had to dodge some interruptions on the road (rattlesnake-coyotes, oversized venomous wasps, tweaked raiders, and—ew!ew!ew!ew!ew!ew!ew!—giant ants) and she was sure her squeals echoed across the desert all the way to those two massive statues in the distance. That and her rear was starting to hurt from constantly bouncing against the not-actually-comfortable bike seat.

"Alright, at least I'm on the right track," she told herself.

The canyon was right there. And already, Velvet could hear the shearing winds ripping through the Divide. The whistling sent shivers down her spine but she blinked away and steeled her nerves.

She peered through the doorway, seeing the rocky trail that winded down into the crevasse, through bits and pieces of debris. She turned around to get back on the motorcycle only to find...that it run its course and, as a _temporary_ tangible copy, fragmented the instant she got off.

It was back to being on foot.

"Oh, bugger."

Velvet's feet hurt now. Not to mention her back was aching and her shoulders were locking up from the weight of her duffel bag. So many supplies. Did she really need all these? She was starting to regret it.

But the view. The view was...breathtakingly dreadful. The valley was indeed an ominous place. Through her lenses, it was a massive graveyard. With a tired sigh, she plopped onto her rear without seeing where she stood only to feel something damp seep through her trousers and weave between her fingers. She brought up her hand to sniff at the substance. And recoiled.

"Really!?" she hissed.

Nothing like sitting on someone else's wet piss in the middle of the desert. Welcome to the Divide.

* * *

Blake began to understand now that the flayed men were nothing short of suicidal. The rage that she saw in their eyes when she got close enough to knock them back... Their fanaticism brought back memories.

"Freezerburn!"

Ice encased the floor of the store to the asphalt in the street. Blake heard Yang slam her fist into the frost, blasting a thick mist that clouded the bloc. Perfect for throwing off their aim.

"Checkmate!"

Muscle memory kicked in and Blake slid across the frosted surface, the mist coming to her advantage. Her coordinated tactic with Weiss worked nearly flawlessly, administering diversionary attacks intending to both disorient the enemy, deny counterattacks, and destroy them from their exposed flanks. Perfect for bulky Grimm and rogue battle robots. Only...

...it worked well in open spaces.

In a cramped, urban ruin such as this, there was not enough space for either the faunus or the heiress to fight, let alone maneuver. The mist quickly became a double-edged sword.

Blake saw Weiss lose her footing and completely miss her target while she herself rammed into a jutting slab of concrete before she could fully round three of the dozen or so skinless madmen trying to massacre them. Her chin bounced against the floor, narrowly missing splintered wood and jutting rebar, as her body careened hopelessly towards where they stood, Gambol Shroud clattering out of her grasp.

Immediately, a boot landed on her hand. She yelped in pain only to be cut off as another connected with her gut, sending her rolling towards the wall.

"Blake!"

She tried to get up only to be suddenly pinned against the brick and mortar by the end of a long metal rod. Her Aura held, preventing what could have been a fatal stab. But it still hurt and she was held in place. Her assailant forced the pipe deeper into her midriff, dragging her body up from the ground, her back scraping against the wall, until she could no longer feel the floor.

Blake focused her reserve energy to create a shadow clone but almost immediately her copy disappeared when a serrated machete nearly clipped the side of her head. No chance in slipping out of this now that she was effectively locked in place. She glanced through the mist; the silhouettes were discouraging. She could hear the pained grunts and cries of her friends, muted partly by the cacophonies from their shoddy NCR-issued guns.

"W-weiss," she strained to call out. "Y-you alright?"

No answer.

Ping!

"Agh!"

"Jaune!"

"Pyrrha, watch out!"

Tat-tat-tat!

"Ruby, duck!"

"Don't touch my Renny!"

"Behind you, Nora!"

Roar. Snap. Crunch. "Good boy, Syrup! Bite his leg off!"

She heard leather flapping and was met by the barrel of a pistol over the bridge of her nose, the bloodshot irises of her would-be killer burning with what could only be described as pure unadulterated hate. Her Aura ran low from the rod being forced into her midriff, the pain becoming unbearable enough to draw tears. She mewled and struggled, her innate animalistic survival instincts overcoming rationality. Her grip tightened on the pole; her breathing grew more and more rapid thanks to the rising pain in her diaphragm as her choices become frantic.

No! This is not how she was going to die! She was not going to die today! She was Blake Belladonna! She will not go down this way! She—

POP!

Blake's eyes shot wide as the head of her attacker jerked to the left in a puffy red plume, the smoky barrel of a revolver resting inches to the right. Ears ringing, she traced the gun to a gloved hand attached to a covered arm connecting to a shoulder straightened over a filtered full-faced gas mask. A faint green glow shone off the fringes of his collar.

He proceeded to empty four more rounds into four other heads before she hit the floor.

"Six?"

Six ignored her. Five empty, smoking cartridges bounced against the marble but he was already aiming through the mist. Could he see them through that thick a fog? What if he might hit the wrong perso—

POP! POP! PAP! POP! POW!

Rapid succession. Five more bodies crumpled to the ground. Blake staggered to her feet, reclaimed Gambol Shroud, and rushed close enough to see...flayed men. Dead. Blood pooling around their busted craniums. She turned her head to say something only for Six to brush past her, walking directly into the cloud. His arm snapped from one target to the next, squeezing the trigger and never missing.

"H-how...?"

POP! PAW! POP! POP!

Blake ran through the mist, finding herself in the middle of the street, darting around to see if any of her friends were still standing. She had long been fascinated by Six's impeccable accuracy; his ability to engage targets at distances as far as a mile and somehow managing to land a single clean (deadly) shot was proving second to none. But in this situation, if the man was just shooting at whoever happened to be in the closest proximity...

"Blake!"

The faunus whipped behind her and nearly decked her partner. "Yang! I almost clipped you!"

"I'm still in one piece. You alright? You seen Ruby?"

"I'm good. No, I haven't seen her. But I saw someone else."

"Another skinned bastard?" she seethed.

Blake pointed down the fogged road. "It's Six."

Yang stilled. The sudden silence was eerie. "H-he's here? Like right here? Right now?"

The faunus nodded. "He went that way—"

"Six? I-Is that you?" That was Jaune. Somewhere further down.

POP!

Crunch.

"Jaune!"

Blake and Yang sped through the dissipating fog. It cleared just as the two reunited with Ruby, Weiss, Ren, Nora, and Syrup. They skidded on their heels—the infant deathclaw held back from pouncing by Nora's grip on its tail—no time to properly acknowledge each other.

In the middle of the junction, leaning behind a burned car, Pyrrha clutched at her bleeding leg. Jaune arched above her with his shield over them both, a dead skinless NCR soldier weighing down against it. He pushed slightly, letting the corpse slide off and flop onto the ground. Human blood smeared over Crocea Mors was a disturbing sight.

Blake felt the urge to adopt a defensive stance upon seeing Six standing not too far ahead, his duster rustling in the breeze, his fingers flawlessly replacing the empty chamber of his revolver with fresh casings in seconds. The last of the flayed men hissed and growled rabidly under his heel.

" _You_ ," the soldier rasped up at him. "You _did this_ to us!"

The Courier centered the barrel on his forehead. "I don't regret it."

POP!

Crunch.

Thud.

Quick, thoughtless execution. Something the White Fang very rarely ever did, even with Adam spearheading operations in the Vale chapter. Over fifteen men—soldiers from two sides, united in unbridled rage, their skin ripped from their bodies—dead in less than five minutes. Blake felt a weight drop into the pit of her stomach as he craned his head towards them, a pair of green glowing glass eyelets boring into her soul.

"Goddamn it, kids," he growled.

* * *

Velvet had lost track of time during her trek down the highway to Hopeville. Walking alone had never felt so mind-numbingly terrifying. She was sure she was paranoid as much as she was sure something was following her. Or maybe it was just the wind.

The Divide was a scary place. This fear was nothing new but she honestly preferred the bigotry of near-sighted racists to this unending dread. There was always a chance something would pounce out from the shadows. Her furry appendages constantly stood erect, on alert for the faintest noise while her hand rested over the holster of the Colt pistol in her holster. She flinched.

Footsteps? Rocks tumbling down the slope.

Scraping? Wind blowing against hanging sheet metal.

Pops?

Velvet stopped walking. She listened again. Gunfire. Distant gunfire. Coming from further west, from Hopeville it sounded like. She sprinted, the pain in her soles searing up her legs but she didn't care. For all she knew, it was RWBY and JNPR fending off mutants or whatever it was that inhabited this graveyard. Or maybe Six dispatching foes.

What she came across, however, was a standoff.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 5, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: May 12, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 11, 2018**

 **NOTE: I'm not fond of writing fight scenes whether they be ranged or melee. I find it hard to read through a detailed fight scene as much as write one. I didn't want to describe every move, every detail of whatever weapon was used and the like because I feel that it takes a bit of effort to try and imagine it (but that depends on the reader, I think). A frequent comment I got from my previous stories (old fiction works that I printed copies of and gave to my friends and family) was that I was being too descriptive.**

 **I hope it was not much of a problem in this one. Over-saturation is a constant challenge for me as a writer. But I also don't want to ignore any important details that would vitally explain certain elements of the plot.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you guys think so far. :)**


	17. Bunker

"Goddamn it, kids."

Ruby's scythe dipped. "Six?"

The Courier strode over the dead, smoking revolver sitting tight in his grip, the two sturdy feathers fluttering slightly in the breeze off the stock of the repeater slung over his shoulder. His gas mask muffled his voice but the anger was clear. "You're crossing a mighty fine line here."

"You shot him!" snapped Blake.

 _So?_ "I was doing him a favor."

"By executing him!?"

 _He deserved it. They all deserved it._ "I was putting him out of his misery."

"You all heard what he said," Yang interjected bitterly. "Six did this to them. How do you suppose that happened, eh, Courier Six?"

"Or perhaps we should address you by your original identity, Major Vickers," Weiss corrected with an air of condescending judgment that was starting to get to his nerves.

Six huffed. "You really did your homework. Should I be impressed?" _Congratu-fucking-lations._

"Is true that you've been harboring weapons of mass destruction," interrogated Cat-girl.

The Courier snorted. _Be careful with those questions, kitty. Certain secrets need to remain buried._ "Where did you hear that bullshit?"

"What's bullshit is that you're a crooked, lying mass murderer!" Blondie snarled with her fists balled. "People say you got a lot of dirt on you. Didn't really believe it 'til I saw it, Major. That's right. Major Theodore Vickers, ex-Ranger. Did a lot of good in your day."

He stifled a snicker. "Yes. I had quite the service record. I'm flattered by your praise." Sarcasm aside, he continued, "Never trust your sources. They may be the best around but that doesn't mean they can skewer it to get what they want out of you." He shifted his attention to the Blake. "You should know better, don't you think, Cat-girl?"

"I don't trust the Republic because they're all the same," she admitted. "But they've never lied to us when they briefed us on you."

"None of us are strangers to deception, Major," Snowball interjected. "Even then, given our circumstances, I would rather take the word of a functioning state over petty street gossip."

"I don't entirely believe them," Yang said. "Until you admit that you're guilty, of course."

The Courier chuckled. _Folly is rich in the young._ "Do you really think the truth would help?"

Hyper stepped forward, those silvery orbs of hers pleading for reason. "Six, please. You need help."

 _Do I look like a loose cannon to you?_ He tilted his head. "So this is some kind of intervention then. Ditch the man who gave you a roof over your heads to go stick your fingers in places that'd get them chopped off."

"The NCR said—"

"James is a damn fool." Six continued pacing towards them. Syrup growled at his approach; the little shit could smell trouble from a mile away and he was not going to deny that there would be trouble in the next couple minutes. "The NCR looks after its own interests."

"They annexed New Vegas," argued Jaune as he and Ren wearily shouldered a crippled Pyrrha away from him. "They have every right, every jurisdiction—"

"Jurisdiction that _I_ gave!" Six roared. "My blood was spilled on this very soil decades before that greenhorn Republic waltzed in! You can find traces of it from the shores of the West Coast all the way to the goddamn Carolinas. How fucking gullible are you that I have to spell it out for you? Do you honestly fucking believe the shit the Republic says about me? Or what anyone says for that matter!"

Ruby tried again. "Six, you're angry. We know how much you've sacrificed for this. But you don't have to go this far."

A scoff. "Look at you, Hyper. Talking about sacrifice. As if you've ever truly felt sacrifice. No. You don't know what it's like to give up something you care about for something that wasn't even worth a damn thing in the end."

She deflated. "But Six...you...this... This isn't how it's supposed to go. You're smarter than this! I know you are! I believe in you—"

 _Enough!_ He snapped his finger at her. "Listen to me, you stupid little shit—"

"Hey!" Yang hollered.

"Same goes for the rest of you goddamn troublemakers." Turning his eyes back at the little reaper, he could see the green glimmer of his visor reflecting off her wide silvery pupils. "You know _nothing_. Who the fuck do you think you are? Strutting around in your goddamn rainbow suits, playing hero to people who don't need goddamn heroes? We never asked for your help. I never asked for your help. And I damn well never wanted any of your help! All you ever were was a liability. A goddamn arrogant liability that keeps upsetting the status quo!"

"S-six," whimpered the little reaper, her silver pupils going glassy.

His chin locked up for a moment. Did he really mean that? _Of course, you did, you stubborn old son of a bitch. They were never your flesh and blood. Just a bunch of troublesome brats that got dropped out of the sky so God could laugh at you._

"Get out of here. Go back to the Strip. This place isn't for you," he weakly ordered.

Her response shocked him. "No."

 _What?_ "Hyper."

She stomped her boot. "No! You're wrong! You're _wrong_! I don't care if you think we can't be heroes but we are going to make something good out of what's here whether you like it or not! We're going to stop you from hurting other people!"

Six felt his blood boil. Then simmer. And then the cold bitterness he had been burying under years of alcohol abuse and denial once more resurfaced. _So be it._ "You are too fucking naive."

He took a solid step forward. She took one back. Everyone else flinched.

"If the world's got to burn, then so be it. Even if I have to do it, then so be it. Innocent and the guilty be damned, we can always start over," echoed former Major Theodore 'Old Green Eyes' Vickers.

"Desert Ranger," Pyrrha sneered between gasps while Ren silently worked on stopping the blood from draining out of her shattered ankle. "You...you were a guardian...used to be a protector...earned your commission through blood, sweat, tears..."

 _You're not wrong there, Sparta._

"You were the guys who stood up for the people. Fought back raiders, cleared mutant lairs, protected settlements," Jaune listed off indignantly. "You were the Huntsmen of the Mojave."

 _Yeah, we were pretty noble. Had an oath, a creed, and a round-table hierarchy to boot. Best of the best, Knight-boy._

"You hunted baddies and broke their legs for being meanies," Nora added, her normally bubbly demeanor darkened. Her knuckles were white from gripping her oversized super-sledge. "So kids could still have their families in tact."

 _That was what we fought for, Pancake. What I used to believe in..._

"Yet you turned your back on it," Weiss intoned. She had her foot planted in front of her with her rapier leveled at his head. "You took bribes, spread dissent, terrorized settlements, inspired an insurrection that cost countless innocents their lives! You're corrupt!"

 _O how the mighty have fallen. It was inevitable, Snowball. You out of all people should know better._

"For a good guy, we really looked up to you," Yang hissed, her boots pounding against the asphalt as she got closer, her fists clenched and rising above her waist. "Guess you're no different than Mister House, you heartless bastard."

 _Is that so?_ "And what does that make you?" the Courier countered. "Self-righteous brats with an inflated morality compass?"

"At least we choose to do what's right," Cat-girl sneered, expecting a fight with the way she was standing.

"Really now. You think it was right to kill those men back there? Or maybe you thought it was right to save your hides by putting them down like that—"

"They attacked us! We..." Blondie stuttered, her outburst faltering as her conscience clearly caught up with her. "We had t-to defend ourselves. Things happened! W-we c-couldn't control the fight."

Old Green Eyes stared at her. Then chuckled mirthlessly. _'Control the fight' my ass. No plan ever survives contact with the enemy._ "It was bound to happen anyway." He raised his hands. "Welcome to the wasteland. This is your official welcome. No drinks, no parties. Taking the life of another. That's how to properly greet greenhorns like you into this hellhole."

"No!" came the resounding protests. "We're not like you—never be like you!"

He straightened himself. "Don't deny it. You're killers now. Quit calling yourselves heroes because there's no such thing. Whatever you do, in the end, you're nothing but killers. Take it or leave it. Killers, killers, killers, the whole lot of you—"

The Courier caught the spark in Blake's amber irises; he struck a strong cord. Alas, they were predictable. Yang leapt at him. _Left hook._ He bucked right. _Follow up._ He caught her fist. _My turn._ And slammed his knuckles into her belly with enough force to send her flying back into the congested group.

Red flashed to his side. He slid back, watching Hyper miss him spectacularly with the blunt end of her scythe. She tumbled and he turned to see Pancake coming down from the sky. Another quick dodge and her super-sledge hybrid blasted another crater in the street. Before the dust settled, he had already maneuvered behind her and landed a quick chop to the back of her head. Right spot. She was out cold by the time she hit the ground. _Goodnight, ginger._

"Nora!"

Shaolin was quick. His strong palms connected with his chin, knocking him back. _Damn. That was some good kung fu there._ Six held his ground, ignoring the debilitating pain in his jaw, and raised his arms to meet the connecting blows that rained down his sides from him and Knight-boy. _Left. Right. Up. Mid._ Then the opening presented itself.

A kick sent Jaune tumbling onto the sidewalk. Ren came onto him from behind but he threw him off. He stepped back as white blurred past his vision almost immediately.

"Wha—?" was all Snowball could utter before he gripped her arm, twisted her wrist, and threw her to the side, her rapier clattering to the ground.

The Courier kicked the blade into the crater then made his way towards her. Of course, that left Sparta who, despite her handicap, managed to plant herself in front of him like a stubborn hoplite, Syrup quickly coming to her side and baring its budding claws and teeth. _No use in beating down a crippled horse._

"That's enough!" he hollered.

Stubbornly, they got back to their feet.

 _Idiots._ "You stubborn little shits."

"No..." huffed Hyper. "We won't let you activate Samson."

 _Samson._ He let out a dry laugh. _So this is how it's going to be. Congratulations, James. You have successfully turned my damn brats against me._ "You see these ruins around you? You see all these?"

They granted him pause to survey the damage, their glares locking back onto him as they readied their weapons again.

"Ten years ago, this was a paradise, a rare jewel in the desert that made the Strip jealous. A model city rising out of the ashes of the old one, living off the caravan trade, a ripe fruit for hungry, starved, and desperate powerhouses." Six gestured at the corpses of the Marked Men. "These bastards? Two whole NCR companies raised to _secure_ Hopeville. Then Hoover Dam happened. Legion skirmishers skirted through the Mojave, broke into the canyon, made it here. Like two wild animals fighting over a plump apple. So what do you do to end the match?"

The kids were silent. They were both eager and apprehensive to find out.

The Courier grunted. "You spoil the apple."

Cat-girl got the hint first. "You... Th-this was the work of Samson?"

He nodded. "Samson was here the whole time. From the very beginning. All he needed was a trigger. And boy, it was an easy switch to flip."

"You..." Ruby seethed. Her knuckles went white over the shaft of her scythe.

"All that dirt on me that you dug up? Mass murderer? Terrorist? Dirty thug? No lie. Congratulations, kids. You're not wrong," he confessed.

Shaking away regretful tears, she declared, "No! We're not going to let you do this again!"

 _If I have to, I will._ "You're all so stupidly naive." And Old Green Eyes looked away as he tossed the stun grenade into their midst.

* * *

The canister clattered, rolled, and off the tip of her boots. Yang chanced a glance before everything flashed painfully and deafeningly white.

"Shit!"

"I'm blind!"

"My ears!"

"Gah! C-can't see!"

She swung wildly, hoping to connect with something. But her senses were thrown for a loop. Her eyes hurt. There was a damn painful ringing in her ears. She rolled onto her knees. This was the perfect opportunity for the coup de grace; she was too debilitated to fight back. She knew it was coming and there was nothing she could do to block it.

Tears welled up inside her eyelids as she held them shut to soothe the pain. This was it. This was her end. Snuffed in a desert wasteland worlds away from home via a bullet to the back of her head. Was Six this cruel? She trusted him, looked up to him, saw him as a begrudging father figure. Concerned, caring...loving... This can't be happening!

"What the hell—" Then the air suddenly left Six's lungs.

Yang rubbed her eyes and staggered to her feet. The blur cleared and she almost stumbled back onto her behind. "... Velvet!?"

"Get to safety! I'll handle him!" the rabbit faunus ordered as her leg swept against his shins, knocking him back down onto the ground.

Her movements were robotic, sluggish, but she managed to get some bearing on her surroundings. She grabbed Ruby and dragged her disoriented sister away. Blake was moving to her right with a dizzy Weiss in tow. Team JNPR had already vacated the area. Pyrrha's blood trail led into an opening in the rubble. Ren was by the fringes of some collapsed pillars, waving them through.

Yang hobbled until her pace quickened and together, team RWBY funneled through the crack. She threw her head back to check. Velvet exhausted her element of surprise, allowing Six to regain the upper hand. She itched to help.

Then Ren grabbed her and Ruby, pulling them away and up an obtuse path towards some kind of shelter in the side of the mountain.

* * *

Blake was thunderstruck.

Six had never displayed such agility since their first encounter. While he rarely engaged in a melee, it was clear that his reactions were too perfect for a man his age: sharp accuracy, quick tactical wit, ridiculous damage threshold. Yet all these with no Aura, no Semblance, not even any kind of Dust. And somehow, he was able to not only intercept lightning-fast blows before they landed but also almost break their arms in the process.

The way his head snapped to meet every threat, his body twisting away with flawless grace, his hands jetting outward to block and grapple...

By Remnant terms, he would have easily been considered an elite combat specialist with extensive training and experience. He moved with the speed of a veteran Huntsman yet acted with the mindset of a coldblooded killer. He was almost...superhuman. Yet, he wasn't. In essence, he embodied every monicker bestowed him by allies and enemies alike.

"How...?" she whispered to no one in particular.

Courier Six, popular alias for former Major Theodore Vickers of the now-non-existent Desert Rangers, had proven himself to be the most terrifying man she had ever met. He admitted to what she refused to believe he was guilty of. While she held little faith in the Republic or the veracity of their information, she found it difficult to ignore it. Most of it confirmed the rumors and hearsay they squeezed out of Swank and every other connection to Six in New Vegas; Vickers was the joker in the wasteland's deck of cards.

He knew it. And exploited it. Tore a warpath through the Mojave, imbalanced the status quo, twisted the political landscape, and gave New Vegas to the NCR at the cost of so many unneeded losses. Blake was apprehensive to these claims. She was sure Weiss, Pyrrha, and even Ren shared her sentiments. Out of the eight of them, Ruby seemed the most painfully optimistic and gullible enough to rake in every word.

The faunus slumped against the cracked wall of what used to be some kind of underground bomb shelter a mile west of Hopeville. Had they fled that far? It was hard to tell. Heat pulsed up and down her pained legs while sweat continued to dampen her clothes.

Her team fared almost the same with Ruby low on Aura from dashing back and forth to clear traps, gather supplies, and ensure that they were safe from their very angry guardian. Heh, _guardian_. What an ironic monicker. The bastard almost broke Yang's ribs and nearly snapped Weiss's wrist. To her right, Jaune helped Pyrrha onto a metal bench, her ankle cocooned in bandages while Syrup lapped at a visibly shaken Nora who held onto a stone-faced Ren.

"Guys," Yang intoned. "Where are we?"

Weiss snapped up from massaging her arm. In their haste, they had somehow managed to drop themselves into some well-built underground shelter. Complete with shattered screens, control panels, and a sigil of stars and stripes. "This appears to be a military bunker. Look! That's a map of the Mojave."

"I don't think it's just the Mojave," Blake muttered as she approached the console she thought was connected to the display. As to how it was still functioning she didn't know. But the fact that there was still power running through this facility (if the lit incandescent bulbs and the whirring of the ventilation shafts were any indication) meant that this place was still operational. Which probably meant...

The faunus pressed a button and the map zoomed out to display the entire continent from the western seas to the east.

Nevada. Arizona. California. Oregon. Texas. Utah. Colorado. Names of what used to be constituent states of the country that once was described as a world superpower long, long ago if the history books she had been reading were in any way reliable.

Weiss was over the console now. Whether it was either morbid curiosity or something else, Blake saw the heiress fiddle with the controls. And the map was bathed in a layer of shapes and diagrams. Cities and settlements across thousands of miles of sprawling landmass were marked. Highlighted. Targeted. And the numbers displayed on the screen drove her up the wall: projected casualties and estimated potential damage costs.

They ran from the thousands to millions. It appeared outdated but considering the booming population of the NCR and other known independent city-states like New Vegas, the data was not far off. So many 'projected' lives at stake, a hypothetical apocalypse—no, _genocide—_ waiting to happen.

"Guys," Ruby piped from somewhere across the cavernous room. "I...I think we might've found Samson."

Both teams scrambled across the command center to the where little reaper stood. Upon a balcony overlooking a...wide...cavernous...hall...

"Whoa."

"Look at this..."

"Is this...?"

Blake recognized the tattered flag hanging off the beams on the other side of the massive lair. Commonwealth. United States. The country that used to exist before the 'Great War' destroyed everything and reset civilization on this planet two hundred years ago. She shifted her gaze to the smooth pillars of steel resting in long rows lining both flanks. Each were marked. It was all coming together now.

"Samson," she breathed. "Samson is an active nuclear missile silo."

Yang looked confused. "A what?"

Blake glanced around her. Weiss caught on. Amazing how her skin blanched more than her hair. "Intercontinental ballistic missiles. Long range rockets tipped with atomic warheads. Oh, no..."

Steam and smoke plumed out of the pits where the rockets were resting which meant another thing. Ren approached the bannister and looked down to where pipes and wires snaked across the corners of the floor. "Refueled and awaiting launch. Someone has been vigorously maintaining this place and ensuring that the weapons themselves are still operational after all these years."

Yang knocked on the railing. "Um, translation?"

The faunus had to stop herself from grabbing her partner by her collar. "The same weapons that created this wasteland in the first place!"

…

Blake could have easily guessed the minds of her friends collectively going 'Oh, shit.'

* * *

Old Green Eyes maneuvered around the ruins of Hopeville with renewed vigor. And searing pain across his aging body. _Got to hand it to Bunny-girl. She sure as hell got a solid kick. Haven't had a good melee like that in a long while._

"Don't make this hard on yourself, kid."

He caught a shape bouncing off a concrete slab. Quick aim. Fire. It was meant as a warning shot. The impact of the bullet cracking into the cement elicited a yelp. Her furry appendages straightened out of cover before folding back down.

"Come on out, Bunny-girl. I won't kill you."

 _You sure about that?_

 _Shut up._

The Courier rounded the corner. He raised a hidden brow. "Really?"

The pistol shook in her grip. She was nervous. Sure, she kicked like a damn horse but she lacked the nerve to pull the trigger. Fatal flaw right there. "That's enough, Six."

He let his reflexes work, hand darting to the grab the barrel of the automatic, ripping it from her grasp, and reversing his grip to point it back at her face. Only...in the same moment, her knee came up to meet him right in the baby maker.

 _Shit._

Six backpedaled with his thighs pressed together. "Good...one...kid..." he squeaked.

By the time he recovered, she had already disappeared up the road. To the Hopeville silo. _Should bring a cup next time. Knew she would've pulled something like that. You sleep with someone and they sock you right back in the nuts. Women._

The Courier looked down to see that his hand was shielding his still aching crotch.

 _Stop making yourself sound like a pedophile, goddamn it._

 _Technically, you did sleep with her._

 _I didn't touch her._

 _Yeah, but you still got in her bed without her consent._

 _Shut up, me._

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 10, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: May 23, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 19, 2018**

 **NOTE: Alright. This is how I view things. The Courier, in a straight up fight, has low chances of winning against Huntsmen and Huntresses with Auras, Semblances, and Dust, much less to those in training. So I tweaked him up a bit, gave him some extra plot armor. It's bad enough he's got stitches in his ass to worry about so I can't have him hobbling around with a broken leg; complicates the story and makes it difficult to write the narrative.**

 **Additionally, I admit the dialogue is not the best, probably has some obvious cliches in there. For now, I'm sticking with it because I honestly don't know how else to go about it. That and I try again to keep the fight scenes quick, simple, and straightforward. So I hope you guys like it so far and let me know what you think because it's pretty damn hard writing from V2 Blake's perspective.**

 **Why Blake's perspective?**

 **Because I find that Blake relates more to Six with her history as a White Fang operative and the conflict is fun to play with (albeit frustrating sometimes to flesh out).**

 **Feel free to point out corrections, inconsistencies, or anything that I may have missed so I can pull my head out of my ass and make the appropriate edits.**

* * *

 **NOTE [May 20, 2018]: Some of you pointed out how Blake and some of teams RWBY and JNPR were being too gullible. Heh, I admit I myself found that a bit ridiculous so I went back in and made some fixes. Hope they work better. :)**


	18. Silo

**NOTE: Managed to get this out earlier than expected.**

* * *

Courier Six followed the blood trail up to the blast doors. The sand on the floor of the antechamber confirmed that Bunny-girl was catching up to her Remnant buddies.

 _Deluded idiots, the whole lot of them. You should've just left them to rot. Should've shot them when you had the chance._

 _Warning shots. Those kids don't belong here._

 _They don't belong here, you say? Then send them back to where they came from or put them in the ground. Either way, they wouldn't be a problem anymore._

 _Shut up, me. I'm not drunk enough to deal with your shit today._

His footsteps echoed across the halls of the Hopeville missile silo. Tens of tripped motion sensors sent him constant alerts that he had to shut them off to keep his Pip-boy from vibrating so much. He stopped in front of the command center where the map displayed the targets he had set for each missile.

So far, there was nothing beyond showing the same fluctuating numbers. Give or take a quarter of the arsenal in the silo and the NCR would be back to square one. It would take a bit less to do the same to the Legion, backwards as they were. The rest would cover the hot spots he was getting from Boston in Massachusetts all the way to Washington DC of the so-called 'Capital Wasteland.' Enough to erase those Enclave and Brotherhood strongholds as well as a bunch of other rising offshoots. Not that he intended for it. But just in case.

 _Nothing else, so far. Other than triggering the mainframe, no clear evidence of anything else they tampered with._ Six bit his lip. Given how those kids could achieve the impossible, they could either screw up the systems of the entire facility or worse...

"Really, Velvet!? Seriously?"

"K-keep it down, Ruby! I-it's n-not what it sounds like, okay?"

That came from the main silo. The Courier crossed the nerve center to the catwalk overlooking the silo itself. And down below were his kids and Bunny-girl. Beaten, bruised, tired, but otherwise okay. Chatting. Catching up. Checking on Sparta's heel and gawking at the ICBMs in their launchers. _Nine brats. Nine of them and a pet. Full on squadron with a mascot. Just like..._

Syrup started growling. And they looked back up to the catwalk. Back at him.

"You like what you see, kids?"

"You're insane," Snowball hissed, drawing her revolver-rapier.

"You're idiots." He gestured at the rows of missiles lining both flanks. "This...this is power."

Hyper detached herself from Bunny-girl and redeployed her scythe. "This has to stop. Why are you doing this?"

 _Good question._ "You're too young to understand. And drinking milk doesn't make you more mature."

"Why?" Blake demanded. "Why do you want to destroy civilization all over again?"

Old Green Eyes gripped the railing as he bellowed, "It's not about reason but out of necessity. The situation demands it."

 _Why do you have to explain yourself to these brats? Just kill them and be done with it already._

 _Shut up, goddamn it._

* * *

Weiss and Blake both shared an affinity for reading. Old history books, encyclopedias, manuals, tattered journals. They all described or at least referenced the bombs that burned Earth. Millions dead in an instant. All with the push of a button or the flip of a switch. And there would be nothing to stop these death machines from soaring through the atmosphere to rain hellfire down on the unsuspecting populace.

For what reason? War. That's what all those faded history books said. War over resources. War over territory. War over food and basic necessities.

Yet, all that happened two centuries ago.

"What precedent could you possibly have to pursue this madness!?" the heiress screamed back up at Major Vickers.

He only shook his head. "Haven't you all been paying attention to the world around you? No. You were too busy being vigilantes to even notice." Casually, he made his way down.

Weiss found herself cautiously stepping back with Myrtenaster on guard. Out of the corner of her vision, the rest of her team covered her flanks. She could hear Pyrrha's pained mewls as she tried to contribute to the situation.

"The NCR is the leading powerhouse in this goddamn hellhole," Six began. "Legion's split and biting its own tail. No Enclave to worry about, no paranoid Brotherhood, no Fiends shaking down travelers on the roads. You'd think things'll finally be looking up." He laughed bitterly. "I thought that after Oliver, things would be different. Never expected it to neither get any better nor any worse."

"Six. What happened to General Lee Oliver?" Blake interrogated.

He shrugged and shook his head insincerely. "He slipped and fell. Tragic. Accidents happen to the best of us."

"What _really_ happened, Major?" Weiss grounded.

The Courier raised his hands in mock innocence while the words came deliberately slow and patronizing. "Accident. He happened to step on a faulty section of the Dam. His bodyguards were unable to save him. What can you do."

Pyrrha spoke up, having to sheepishly hang off of Jaune's shoulder. "Oliver had many friends in high places. And just as many enemies everywhere else. Don't you agree, Major?"

Six tittered. "Loyalty has a price. You'd be surprised how easy it is to buy out an entire security detail. Especially if they hate their charge."

Amber irises narrowed. "I knew it."

"Oliver assassinated, Moore incarcerated, Hsu promoted," the heiress listed. "And scandals rocking both the Republic's leadership and the Three Families. Why am I not surprised."

Slow. Loud. Claps. Major Vickers was sniggering now. "You should've been a detective instead of a Huntress. I suppose you read about the part where I took up arms in Mexico with the old breed. Tied down the NCR's best for years. Tier One groups 'chasing ghosts in Baja.' Then retreated east to Sonora and back up through Texas, silencing marks in Arizona while running jobs for the Mojave Express under false identities." He nodded at no one in particular. "Heh, kudos to them; they got all that right. It was fun being a fugitive."

Weiss blinked. He continued to admit to what the NCR suspected him to be guilty of. How fitting.

"And you slept with Velvet!" Ruby hollered.

…

Wait, what!?

* * *

"Wait, what!?"

"Oh, son of a bitch," Six groaned.

At Ruby's shocking accusation, the rest of the other two teams stared in disbelief at the older faunus who had understandably flushed full scarlet. To punctuate her embarrassment, her ears instinctively folded inward. That and she tried to shrink deeper into her clothes while her face disappeared behind her shawl.

Despite having overheard their conversation prior, Blake was still as surprised as everyone else. "Y-you're not serious...were you, Velvet?"

"N-no! N-not in that w-way! I-it's not w-what you think!" veiled Velvet protested.

The little reaper stood by her side, clasping her arm tight with a rigid and confident expression. "But you said he forced himself into your room and—"

"Yes! No! But- Wait, hold on! That's not—"

"If Coco was here, you'd be so dead," Yang crowed towards the Courier. She could imagine how slack-jawed he was behind his intimidating headgear.

"What the hell, Bunny-girl!"

"What the hell, Six!"

"I didn't touch her!"

"You're a war criminal and now you're a- you're a- you..." stuttered a flabbergasted Weiss.

Six flailed his arms in exasperation. "Goddamn it, I didn't touch her! You kids are getting the wrong idea here."

"Well, Velvet is cute and really adorable," Nora piped distractedly, rushing over to pinch the elder girl's cheeks. "Pretty sure a lot of people would want to hit on her."

Cue stolid Ren. "There is no question there."

And gauche Jaune. "Yeah, heh, she is kinda pretty."

Pyrrha too. Distantly. "Yes... Pretty."

Meanwhile, Syrup was confused between growling at the man with the glowing green eyes or the strange rabbit person.

"Oh, come the fuck on!" the Courier howled. "You kids are too easily swayed."

Weiss hummed in thought and gave him a quick one-over before mouthing, "Hmm, Major Vickers technically is without a partner."

"Probably sexually frustrated," mumbled Blake.

Six threw his arms in the air. "This is too stupid to be real."

"We didn't _do it_!" Velvet finally screeched, her eyes flaring with an almost complete loss of sanity. "... We did _not_. Have. An. Affair!"

In the deafening silence, the two faunus could have sworn they heard a tumbleweed bouncing around outside the silo's antechamber.

The Courier cleared his throat. "Thank you for clarifying that."

Ruby was more puzzled than provoked. Befogged, she poked Velvet in the arm. "But you told me you two slept together."

"He was drunk. I was tired," the sophomore explained as coolly as she could. "He barged into my room, complaining about taking care of you guys. Then he got into my bed, vomited onto my floor, and fell asleep. That's it. That was all. Nothing else, nothing untoward, nothing involving... _you-know-what_." Velvet was unaware that her panicked and very animated hand gestures almost killed her argument. She just wanted to get the point across that she was not taken advantage of and did not take any advantage of anyone because frankly she was not into smelly, drunk old men. Ew.

Jaune raised his hand with a thumb craned towards the dormant missiles. "Um, don't you guys think we have a bigger problem to deal with other than arguing over whoever Six likes to sleep with?"

"Would you please stop saying shit like that?" Six barked. "I got drunk and I forgot what happened but I didn't damn touch her."

"You 'forgot' what happened but you insist you did nothing to her," Weiss outlined.

"Not the best argument if you're trying to plead innocence," Blake included analytically.

"I mean, if I were a guy, I'd definitely tap that," Yang mulled.

"So you didn't try to make a baby with him? Like make a baby-baby?" Ruby prodded the twitching rabbit faunus. "You know, like how a man and a woman really love each other and they get together and they—"

"I did _not_ have sexual relations with that cottontail, goddamn it!" decried the Courier. "Where the fuck are you kids getting these damn ideas!?"

"I know, right?" hissed Velvet who had resorted to pulling her appendages down to wrap them around her already covered face.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with hooking up with a man who, well, you know, could be old enough to be your dad," Nora remarked to which Yang and Ruby choked.

"It is unfortunate that people still think we're his offspring," Pyrrha said.

Ren nodded. "It has become quite problematic. Rumors abound that we are either adopted or borne from several mistresses."

The heiress palmed her face. "Not just problematic. Very troublesome now that we are even being suspected of"—she shuddered—" _incestuous_ behavior!"

Again, Jaune tossed his hands in the air and started waving with sword and shield while gesturing at the pods. "Guys! Bigger problem here!"

Six let out a very audible, very exasperated sigh. "Alright, this has dragged on for too long." He pulled out his revolver. "I'm hauling you kids back to the Strip if it's the last thing I do."

And just like that, they reassumed their battle stances. Typical.

* * *

Raul amplified the magnification on his binoculars.

Within the walls of Fort Mead, through an open garage door, three crews of engineers in jumpsuits set to work stenciling the colors of the United States Commonwealth onto the mechanical ligaments of two more oddly-designed battle-robots. Where they got those war machines was a mystery—the most advanced technology to come out of the NCR were the scraps salvaged from the Brotherhood of Steel—but the fact that they were making them appear old and retrieved from some abandoned U.S. Army depot was enough to convince him of another planned NCR operation.

The ghoul shifted slightly on his perch, a tiny cavern carved into the side of a seemingly unassailable cliffside, and shifted his attention all the way across the canton where three rows of newly pitched tents.

This was interesting. The occupants all appeared to be non-combatants. So those must be the liberated Legion slaves. With every head of hair dyed to match almost every color on the rainbow. Odd. And slave collars still locked around their necks. Why was that?

Raul zoomed in closer. There was something different about those collars. They were bulkier and appeared to have been designed with chambers to hold something. Batteries? Too distant to know for sure.

He adjusted his vision. There. Two figures addressing the whole group. Most likely their representatives. There was an air of authority to them despite the glaring collars wrapped around their own necks. At least they were no longer in rags. He observed them. There was no mistaking it. That pair was from Remnant. Which meant some or perhaps all of those slaves were from Remnant. NCR radio chatter later confirmed they were personally briefed by General Hsu and most probably going to be held there until they would be relegated to either McCarran or Aerotech to be properly 'accommodated.'

The ghoul continued observing them until they retired for the night to which he descended off his perch with an entire log of data recorded on both paper and tape. A handful of advanced battle robots, around two dozen Remnant refugees, and NCR military build-up in and around Fort Mead?

Not to mention the 'hot spot' Boss was supposed to 'investigate.' Raul was starting to assume why the good general chose that sinkhole Devil's Throat all the way east as the location for the bogus job. The place was a hornet's nest complete with a highly radioactive reservoir. While the Courier could survive those doses, even with treatment, the isotopes would keep him out of action for a good week to a month at most. For a ghoul like him, though, it was nothing. He had been there before and he was not expecting much when he would visit the place again even if the NCR somehow managed to plant something there.

Boss was definitely not going to like this. And honestly, neither did Raul.

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 19, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: May 23, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 23, 2018**

 **NOTE: I thought I'd inject some extra dialogue before the climax. I'm surprised at how quick I got this up as usually it takes me at least a week to churn a chapter. I'm satisfied though with how this one came out. Hope you guys like it.**

 **~o~**

 _ **Guest [May 19]:**_ **Soon.**

 _ **Guest 1 [May 20]:**_ **Good call on the plot armor. And I didn't notice the thought-and-speech reversal until you mentioned it. Also, thanks for bringing up the issues with RWBY and JNPR's gullibility towards the NCR so I made a few adjustments to the previous chapter to rectify some of that. Blake, out of all people, should know better. Weiss, Pyrrha, and Ren as well; they're also similarly levelheaded.**

 _ **Ty: **_**Grey area. :D**

 _ **Guest 2 [May 20]:**_ **I remember the perks and stats and some them are in play but I don't want to Gary Stu/OP the Courier.**

 **~o~**

 **Next couple chapters will be an eye-opener for teams RWBY and JNPR.**


	19. Countdown

"Jaune, see if you guys can disable the missile systems."

"What? Wait, Rubes! What about you?"

"We'll stall. Just go!"

"A-alright. Got it. Pyrrha, you okay?"

"Yes, Jaune. Let's get to the main control panel."

"You do know that none of us can tap into the mainframe."

"No need for that hacking stuff, Renny. Let's smash it to bits! Right, Syrup?"

"Team RWBY, I'll stay here with you."

"Great to have you in our corner, Velvet."

The Courier tracked the kids as they spread out. Already, team RWBY plus Bunny-girl occupied his flanks, obscuring his view of JNPR-dash-deathclaw. "Stubborn brats." _Now's the perfect opportunity. Kill them. Kill them all._

 _No._

Revolver fully loaded. Repeater within reach. Bunch of teens with ridiculous hybrid weapons charging to incapacitate him. _Five targets. Five bullets. Standing my ground is out of the question. I still have stitches in my ass. Dodge their attacks, exhaust them, hit them and run. Whittle them down. Make sure not to let any stray shots nick any soft spots. Nukes ain't exactly bulletproof._ Six could hear footsteps clattering against the floor. He breathed deep.

Time seemed to slow as his brain jolted into overdrive. _Incoming strike, one o'clock._ He automatically deflected the first blow.

* * *

If most of his engagements were this acrobatic, then Six would have died from either a heart attack or fatigue. Or organ failure. But Six was anything but a normal human being. Alas, the eggheads at the Big MT, insane as they were, had reworked him into something beyond his natural physical and mental limitations whether or not he wanted any of it.

That did not mean he was ungrateful for the current state of his body. Every move felt automatic. Every reflex came through nearly flawlessly. Sure, parts of him were showing the telltale signs of age. Sure, he was moving around with over a hundred pounds of gear on his person. Sure, some of his reactions were a second or two slower. But at least he was still alive, still energetic, and effectively wearing down the five brats trying to knock him to the ground. And he occasionally stole glances at JNPR-S, tracking them as best he could while they bounced from console to console.

"Why. Won't. You. Stay. Still!" Blondie screamed, frustratingly blasting away her buckshot.

 _Try aiming, you idiot. You should know better to conserve your 'irreplaceable' ammunition._ Six continued to run circles around them, Dust and gunpowder ripping holes up in the floor with bits of shrapnel (thankfully) bouncing harmlessly off the pods.

"Freezerburn!"

 _I can see you through the mist._

"Bumblebee!"

 _Stonewalled. Hurts like hell though._

"Checkmate!"

 _Block, dodge, block, dodge, counter._

"Ladybug!"

 _Parried and evaded._

"Ice Flower!"

 _You missed your shots._

"Steer clear, guys!"

 _Not this time, Bunny-girl._ Six slid across the iced floor, past a completely winded team RWBY, and, pivoting on his hip, snapped to the rabbit faunus coming down on him with a literal _carbon copy_ of Hyper's scythe. For one, she was fast. Then again, she was also predictable. With solid replicas of the brats' different weapons, he guessed that it came with the same strategies they used. Dodge here, slide there, block, evade.

 _Opening, three o'clock._ The Courier forwarded a tightly clenched fist as Velvet charged at him again. This time, he felt something crack against his knuckles and in that momentous second, he caught the sudden shock in her eyes as her face passed over his shoulder.

His arm arced sideways, throwing her back, and he skated back around to watch her tumble and roll to a stop on the floor. She twisted in pain, her arms wrapping around her midriff. _Shit. I broke her ribs._ She cried out and he flinched. _Why do I feel guilty for that?_

"Velvet!"

"Are you okay!?"

"Her Aura's low!"

"I'll get her to safety!"

"I warned you, kids. You should've just left," Six intoned. _Why do I feel guilty? I only shattered a few bones. Nothing life-threatening. Bones heal._

Hyper glared at him with determined rage. "Stop, Six! Just stop! Stop Samson! That's all we ever wanted!"

"You don't understand the politics that demand this," the Courier declared. _They're tired enough. Time to get the other four. Sparta could be tearing through the console right now._

Ruby charged at him via her Semblance. Six swept to the right, then suddenly pulled back left, leaving his right arm stretched firmly outward. Her chest collided with his bicep. _Perfect clothesline._ And her momentum dragged his body along with her. _Damn physics!_

The both of them flew briefly then landed with the grace of a dead body. The Courier quickly forced himself back up. "Hyper," he called out to the fifteen-year-old girl writhing on the floor. "Enough with this! Stand down!"

"I won't...let you...kill innocent...people," she wheezed.

 _Fucking moralist._ "Stubborn little shit... You're too young to understand."

"I...am not...a _child_!"

Six paused. Did her eyes just flicker? He swore her pupils glimmered for a second there. It was weird enough that she had silver irises but them suddenly flashing like molten nickels? There was not that much light reflecting off her face. Probably his own creeping exhaustion.

He stepped in her direction, reaching over his shoulder and pulling out his feathered repeater. _Don't make me shoot you._

Ruby managed to pull herself up. "Six... Vickers... Theodore..."

"Ruby Rose."

"Why...? Why are you doing this? If anything, please, tell me why." Her legs wobbled as she propped herself up with her scythe. "Through your eyes, through your ears... I'm asking you now for the truth. I want to hear it...from you. I want to know...why..."

Something warm and soft tugged at his chest. The Courier grit his teeth. He had lost too much patience to argue. "You want to understand? You want to _really_ understand, Ruby?" A few yards back, Cat-girl laid Bunny-girl down against a control box to recuperate.

He stopped a yard away from her. His finger rested over the trigger guard of his personal carbine, a single round chambered and ready to close the gap. On the other hand, her mechanical scythe had the reach to cleave through him from where she stood.

"Be honest with me, Six..."

" _Were you part of a team? Y'know, with Raul? Did you have a team? Like us?"_

"... Please."

 _"Ruby, I'll tell you another time. For now, get some rest."_

The Courier saw Blondie and Snowball skidding to a halt right behind her. Hyper held out a clenched fist: a clear order to stand down.

"I do want to understand..."

 _"Trust your teammates. Trust your friends."_

Her silver pupils searched him. "Help me to..."

 _"They may give you hell but in the end, when you think everyone's left you..."_

"... So I, we, can help you."

 _"...they're going to be the only people in this godforsaken world who'd run up out of the blue and take the hit for you when the shit hits the fan."_

Major Theodore Vickers shut his eyes to shutter the memory. "Goddamn it, you are so stubborn." Medicine Stick slacked. "Samson isn't just a weapon. It's more than that. There are strings attached to devices like these. When you have a sword that can cut through anything or an unstoppable magic bullet... You have a weapon that is not only tactical but strategic on a global scale."

"What do you mean?"

 _I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm letting this happen. Goddamn it, this was supposed to be clandestine!_ "There's this diplomatic principle that governed the nuclear states before the Great War. Samson was one of hundreds that were built to serve that purpose. That was over two hundred years ago. These birds have aged passed their heyday. They can still level places but it doesn't have as much of a punch as it used to. The best Samson can do now is act as a de..."

Six felt his breath hitch in his throat. Not because of the emotions rising from the past. But because of the sudden blaring of the alarms; klaxons started flashing in and around the silo. When he finally found his voice, he snapped his head to the elevated command platform upon which sat the central control terminal. Team JNPR-S was frantic and fumbling around it. Up and down the complex the silo doors hissed open.

 _Dear sweet Lord, no!_ "Ah, _shit_!"

"What happened!?"

"What's going on!?"

"Is Samson...?"

Knight-boy hollered over the noise. "Uh, guys! Something went wrong!" Shaolin backed into him and they both tumbled down the steps. Steam burst through the grills and filled each launch pad enough so much so that the missiles themselves were partially concealed in thick murky clouds.

Just as Six feared, the dreaded automated voice echoed over the entire complex.

 _"[Systems breached]_ _"_ —static— _"[Interference detected]"_ —static— _"[Emergency protocols initiated]_ _"_ —static— _"[Warning, warning, warning]_ _"_ —static ringing.

"Dear God, no! No, no, no, no, no, no, _NO_!"

 _"[Launch sequence initiated. Tee minus sixty seconds. Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight...]_ "

The kids paled. Syrup emerged from a hole under the main platform and swallowed a chunk of ripped copper wire.

The Courier screamed in horror. "You _goddamn IDIOTS_!"

* * *

"Six, wait!"

" _[_ _Fifty-five...]_ "

"He's going for the launch controls!"

" _[_ _Fifty-two_... _]_ "

Ruby darted after him, her Semblance sputtering. She could hear Yang, Weiss, and Blake huffing to catch up with her. "Six!"

"Sis, hold up!"

" _[_ _Forty-nine...]_ "

He leapt over the tangled mess that was Jaune and Ren, landing onto the platform. Nora stepped in front of him but he shoved her aside, almost knocking her off the railing. Syrup dove in for a bite only to be suddenly punted out of the way. The Courier closed the gap towards Pyrrha who stood befuddled in front of the partially dissected control pad. A mess of buttons, coils, and bolts floated around her.

" _[_ _Forty-three...]_ "

"Out of the way!" he barked.

The metal fragments coalesced into a shield. "Six, you—gah!"

" _[_ _Thirty-nine...]_ "

Ruby skidded to a halt. Six forced his hands through the suspended mess of metallic bits, took hold of Pyrrha by her biceps and flung her behind him. The reaper caught the champion as she landed on top of her, bolts, screws, and the fragments of the console bouncing off them.

" _[_ _Thirty-five...]_ "

"Six!"

Ruby had to act fast. As far as she knew, the missiles—refueled and calibrated—were going to launch, armed with their payload, and once they were in the air, they would be powerless to stop it from reducing entire cities (tens of thousands of innocents) to ash. Again. Panicking, she loaded her last Dust-based bullet into Crescent Rose and took shaky aim at his back.

" _[_ _Thirty-one. Thirty...]_ "

She breathed deep to try and steady her grip as her team nearly bumped into her. Her mind debated over whether this was the right thing to do, even as the Courier appeared unusually alarmed while he worked furiously on what was left of the console.

" _[_ _Twenty-seven...]_ "

"Ruby, wait!"

She felt Blake's hand pull back on her shoulder. "What are you—?"

"Look! He's..."

Yang blinked. "Is he...shutting it down?"

"He's disabling it," Weiss muttered dumbly. "He's disabling Samson."

" _[_ _Twenty-two. Twenty-one...]_ "

"Come on, come on, you outdated cockamamie pre-war tech," hissed the Courier. "Don't fail me now, goddamn it!"

" _[_ _Eighteen. Seventeen._.. _]_ "

"S-should we help?" Ruby asked.

Blake shook her head. The look on her face was resigned, forlorn, and...ashamed? "No. I think we've caused enough trouble already."

"I...I concur," sighed Weiss.

" _[_ _Eleven. Ten. Nine...]_ "

"Dear God Almighty, don't do this to me!" Six pleaded, flipping a line of switches then reaching over the terminal for a lever hanging off the side.

" _[_ _Six. Five...]_ "

Team RWBY stood paralyzed alongside their bewildered sister team, their confused pet, and the pained faunus sophomore, watching helplessly at what they had caused.

" _[_ _Three. Two...]_ "

Beep.

Silence.

The Courier slouched over the panel. Panting. Sweating. Tired. The rusted lever was angled down. The alarms stopped blaring leaving the klaxons lit. Then the automated voice returned.

" _[_ _Launch sequence aborted]_ "

Ruby let out the breath she had been holding. Did he just...? Is it over? Is Samson down? The rest of her fellow Remnant teens gathered themselves around the central platform, wondering what exactly happened.

The little reaper felt euphoric, akin to the emotions that arose in the aftermath of the Breach. A crisis averted. An attack blunted. An emergency contained. It was cathartic. She drowned in her relief. Only to be pulled back out by a cold, unforgiving order.

"Get out."

He still had his back to them. She reluctantly reached an arm out. "Six?"

" _Get_. _Out_."

* * *

Blake could have never felt any worse than Ruby appeared to have been. Her leader fought back tears. Her attempts at negotiation were muted by two words that kept repeating until they came out as a raging snarl. It was only when the Courier swiveled on his heel...

...and very nearly backhanded Ruby.

His hand was raised, stiff and ready to crash against her cheek. Instead, he held it up in the air. Yang flinched and it felt like a whole minute before Weiss tugged Ruby away.

"Get out."

"U-um, Six?" Nora tried.

Ren reached out. "Nora, don't—"

The ginger ignored him. She inched closer with a plastered smile. "Six? You won't, uh, blow up the world, right? R-right, d-dad?"

Six snapped at her. "I'm not your fucking dad, ginger! You are _not_ my flesh and blood so drop the act because for all I care you're nothing but a fucking orphan to me."

To say that Nora shattered like glass was mildly putting it. Her smile vanished instantly. Her lips quivered. She nearly dropped Magnhild. "W-w-w-what d-did y-y-you...?"

"If I was your damn dad, I would've what any sane parent would and shoot myself to get away from the bullshit I have to put up with from you, goddamn failed abortion."

Blake blinked hard. That was...harsh. Ren immediately stepped between them to pull Nora back. That or he almost violently retaliated. In her peripheries, green molded orange away. Said orange was sniffling... Nora was in tears. Bubbly, crazy, cheerful, always jubilant Nora was downright sobbing.

"Hey!" Jaune growled back. "That was uncalled for! She was just trying to—"

Pyrrha stopped him before Blake could. "Enough. Let's just go." She appeared resigned but even more so guilty than a convicted criminal in a courtroom full of witnesses. "We should leave."

The blonde protested but he was tugged away nonetheless. The boys of team JNPR-S started threw _very_ contemptuous looks at the Courier who probably had an even fiercer and clearly unforgiving glare behind his gas mask. Ren guided a visibly shaking Nora and a closely concerned Syrup while Jaune shouldered Pyrrha across the complex, stopping briefly by the corner to help Velvet up.

Blake decided that the best course of action now was to follow suit. She nodded at Yang who went to assist Jaune with the two girls hanging off his arms. They were all halfway up the staircase when they heard a roar and a loud crash. Looking back, Six had practically ripped the entire control panel off the main console and hurled it halfway across the complex, shoulders heaving furiously as he seethed and frothed.

He then sat on the floor with his head in his hands. Shaking. Trembling. His gas mask unclasped and hanging off his neck, the haunting green visor reflecting the bright red of the klaxons. Blake heard him muttering curses to himself. Though she knew better, she could not tune out some of the rambling details that reached her ears: 'wasn't supposed to happen,' 'no one to blame but yourself,' 'she won't forgive,' 'all for naught,' 'in the basement,' 'horrible _husband_ ,' 'heartless _father_...'

She glanced up. Velvet nodded; she heard them all too. And by the way her gaze softened, she knew more than the rest of them. The two faunus looked back when they stopped hearing words.

Six was crying.

Blake lingered on the mezzanine until she was alone, listening closely, gazing back down at the lone figure. General Hsu claimed he was a broken man. Ruby voiced the same opinion. The proof was evident now.

Six's actions disproved her assumptions about him. For all his deeds, this one act proved that the guardian that was the Desert Ranger was still alive inside the madman that was Old Green Eyes. Borrowing Yang's vocabulary, she could say that he pulled a reverse Adam (or something along those lines).

Blake headed back up to the antechamber where the rest of her friends and teammates sat idle. Ruby brought her knees up to her chin, gazing forlornly at the wall despite Yang's (still terrible) puns. Weiss tended to Velvet's broken ribs. Jaune kept close to Pyrrha while Ren had his arm over Nora's slouched form, Syrup worriedly lapping at her legs. Blake found her spot in the corner far from the group. No books to read, no topic of conversation in mind, just her thoughts to torment herself with.

They stayed that way for the next hour. She knew the unspoken reason why they hadn't left yet: despite all that he had said and done, they could not bring themselves to leave the Courier behind.

* * *

If there was one thing former Major Theodore Vickers would ever regret in his whole life, it was that he didn't pull the trigger when he could have. It was always the case regardless of the situation. And the consequences he had to deal with would take a toll on his physical, mental, and sociological state, deteriorating as it already had been for the past decade.

Countless times in his life he refused to pull the trigger. And the results cascaded through a domino of disasters. Because he froze on the trigger, Arizona fell to the Legion. Because he hesitated on the trigger, the Malpais Legate lived to attack Hoover Dam. Because he refused to pull the trigger, Oliver crushed their uprising in Baja and the last of the Desert Rangers fragmented. And now that someone else had pulled the trigger...

 _"Sorry you got twisted up in this scene. No hard feelings, buddy."_

 _"Keeping it professional, eh, Benny. I guess this is karma."_

 _"I guess so. I hate to do this to you, Theo. But it seems like an eighteen-carat run of bad luck for a guy like you. Truth is...the game was rigged from the start."_

 _"Heh. Lucky me."_

...he ended up nearly nuking the wasteland back to square one out of (grief) principle. He really was no different than the bastards.

 _"Don't even suggest we're equals, Ulysses. You couldn't have done this without me bringing you what you needed."_

 _"You were tricked, Theodore. Still, you take pride in it."_

Here he sat, eyes dry, face damp. Broken and in complete conflict with himself. In the middle of Ulysses's Temple. _We're not equals but we're both of the same ilk, Ulysses. Even in death, you still hound me._ With a defeated sigh, he looked up at the hole in the ceiling, one of many. Moonlight beamed through the open silos and bathed the ICBMs in haunting blue hues.

 _Things could have gone differently, you know._

 _Where did I go wrong?_

 _Nine bullets. That's all you needed. Nine bullets and this all could have been avoided._

 _Why did this happen?_

 _All that effort restoring Samson wasted because you put the kids first. Way to choose your priorities. You should've pulled the trigger when you had the chance._

 _Ruby was only trying to help. In her stupid, adorable way._

 _Hyper was being a stubborn, gullible brat. Vigilantes die quick in the wasteland._

 _Velvet warned me they'd go this far. And I let them._

 _They bumped you down fifteen solid pegs. Those powerhouses are going to notice. Good luck bringing Samson back to life a third time before another bullet splits open your noggin._

 _Samson was supposed to be a last resort._

 _Samson was a weapon of America. A weapon that's been always there, always waiting. An endgame. NCR was smart enough to know something was up. They used the brats to figure it out, to sabotage you, to disable the biggest gun aimed at them. Ironic that you ended up doing it for them._

 _I never intended to level the world again._

 _Play with fire, you get burned. This is what you get for gambling with the Devil's fork, you fuck-up._

 _Am I really this fucked up?_

 _Yeah, I am._

Six laid flat on his back, gazing at strangely clear evening sky. Full moon tonight. Lots of bright stars, too. Then a dot. A dot with wings squawked overhead.

 _Lone vulture. Probably smelled death before it happened. Then again, I probably reek of carrion._

 _How does that song go again?_

 _'Black raven, black raven. Circling above the grave...' Or something like that._

 _I wish I was you, birdie. Hogging the sky for yourself without a care in the world._

The bird didn't answer, obviously. It just continued flying circles above him, silhouetted against the lunar light, until he picked himself up and started walking. Back to New Vegas. Back to the kids. Back home.

 _Goddamn it, Theodore._

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 19, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: June 1, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 1, 2018**

 **NOTE: I have two other drafts where this could have gone down differently. In the original, Six gasses the teens, carts them outside, and stands guard until they wake up. The other draft is another stand-off where the teens try to talk a clearly unhinged and understandably enraged Six from shooting them dead. I'm thinking about on putting them up here as sort of a 'Director's Cut' or something.**

 **Not fond of exposition but I guess I let myself go for this one. Trying to go deep into the mind of the characters without dramatizing too much is much harder than I anticipated.**

 **Anyway, hope you guys like it so far. Let me know what you think. :)**

 **~o~**

 _ **Review dude:**_ **Yeah, the surgeries conducted by those Big MT eggheads should sensibly end up leaving a screw loose somewhere. There is bound to be complications left behind with the way they handle their experiments and I think mental instability may be one of them.**

 **Didn't expect the schizophrenia angle though.**

 _ **Guest:**_ **Far enough. I think I've already stretched it. :)**

 **~o~**

 **I think I need a Beta.**


	20. Fallout

Being a faunus had its quirks.

Having sensitive hearing courtesy of two extra furry appendages amplified the soft snores of their friends and the howling winds outside. Velvet caught a pair of weighted amber irises meeting hers in the dim anteroom. Footsteps echoed from the depths of the facility, getting closer and stopping short of the doorway.

"What the hell are you kids still doing here?"

"We're tired," Blake replied dryly.

Velvet tried to meet Six's glare with her own only to grimace at the agonizing pangs suddenly shooting up from her midriff.

"Take it easy, Bunny-girl."

She scoffed through clenched teeth. "Oh, I'll just be dandy, Major."

"Bones heal. Your Aura should help with that, I guess." The Courier stared pointedly at her. "Raul let you go, didn't he."

The rabbit faunus bit her lip. He didn't seem angry. Maybe mildly annoyed? "Y-yes. He t-thought it best if I followed you and made sure you, um, didn't mess up or something."

He exhaled. "Of course, he did."

"Raul cares about you, Six," Blake interjected. "So do we."

"Is that the reason why you came all the way out here?"

Velvet winced at the Blake's subsequent sarcasm. "Yes, exactly. We care that much that we'd believe anything at this point." Her tone then changed. "I don't trust the NCR but they've gotten a lot of things right. And I hated that. I hated that they were right! I hated that you have almost no remorse for it all."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Theo, please. Some of us are really confused. And really frustrated. But we're all concerned. For you. For your sanity. Seeing you lose yourself isn't healthy for us, too." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are things really that bad here that you have to go this far?"

The Courier grunted. "I thought it was obvious."

"Blake, what were you guys doing here anyway?" Velvet asked. Six glowered curiously to which the cat faunus took a few deep breaths before answering.

"The NCR was worried that Samson was a secret weapon that might be used against them. They asked us to investigate and...shut it down." She shifted slightly at the silent treatment as she continued. "Weiss and I have been...studying your history, Six. No offense. We wanted to know more about you but you were so aloof. Either you were too drunk to have a reasonable conservation with or you were off somewhere. So we had to ask...others. What we learned... None of us wanted to believe any of it. I didn't want to believe that you could do something like, well, this."

"And Hyper wanted you to jump in because she thought it would 'help' both me and everyone else," the Courier finished with arms folded.

Blake nodded sheepishly. "You can't blame Ruby for being an altruist."

"And yet you agreed."

"I...won't deny that."

The pause that followed was constricting. Velvet glanced between the two, worried about the Courier's current mental state. He had this foggy gaze that lingered over them. Silent contemplation perhaps? Or maybe an argument going on his head? It looked like any wrong word might set him off. So it came as a surprise when he placed a hand on the freshman's shoulder and calmly said, "I guess this is all on me then. Listen, kid, I have my issues. And I admit I let my demons get the best of me. Maybe someday we can have another meaningful conversation."

"Like when you were hungover that one time?"

"Yeah, like that one time." Six flicked her feline ears. "Blake, you and your buddies are a bunch of fucking idiots. But you're _my_ idiots. And before you even say it, I'm going to have to talk to Pancake over there about some of the things I've said."

Blake smiled warmly. "That'd be nice."

"Don't hug me, though. Seriously, don't hug me."

The cat faunus killed her beam and pressed herself back against the wall. "Understood."

"Get some rest, you two. It's way past your bedtime."

She raised a brow. "Have you even had any sleep?"

He waved her off. "Don't worry about me."

"Are you sure about that?" Velvet piped. "I mean, we did have a scuffle."

"I have my quirks."

"You tracked us halfway across the Mojave, killed several soldiers, and even beat us at our best. You look like you haven't slept for the past three days," Blake highlighted. "You have some interesting 'quirks.''"

"Some secrets are best left unsaid."

"Unless you're intoxicated," Velvet interjected. She smirked at the brief stroke of panic that flashed in his eyes. "I can keep a secret. Or ten."

"We're going to have a long chat about that, Bunny-girl."

The older faunus huffed and shook her head. She was too exhausted to argue, after all. Besides, her Aura was slowly mending her broken ribs. Though not necessarily regenerating shattered bones, it would make it easier for treatment from a licensed physician. Come to think of it, there was a competent doctor in Goodsprings.

"Do we remind you of anyone?" Blake suddenly queried.

Velvet looked to the Courier. His body language betrayed his poker face. Leave it to Miss Belladonna to prod for more answers, not that she could blame her.

"A few certain individuals, yeah."

The sophomore met Blake's uneasy glance. She shrugged. Curiosity killed the cat, as the saying goes. Perhaps this would be a tender moment. Feeling slightly reassured, the cat faunus took another deep breath. "Yang's kind of like Veronica, isn't she?"

Six leaned against the wall and chuckled. "Yeah. 'Cept Vee hates drinking and doesn't use puns."

"Amazing how no one else has woken up to this conversation," Velvet muttered. Were they conversing that softly or were the others just that tired? Then again, the sandstorm outside was lulling.

A prideful grin slowly formed over his unkempt chin. "She's more like Hyper and Blondie rolled into one: can pound someone three times her size while going on about the parts of a rocket launcher."

"Sounds like a handful."

"Yeah. Witty, snarky. Not as crass as Cass though."

The rabbit faunus raised a brow. Cass? As in Miss Cassidy? Now she was interested.

"Rose of Sharon Cassidy, right? Head of Cassidy Caravans?"

With traders and guards more amiable and open-minded than most in the wasteland, Velvet did not add.

"Mm-hmm," he hummed. "And you're sort of like Boone. Well, you and Shaolin are sort of like Boone. Only you don't mope about your military service."

"What about Arcade?"

The Courier exhaled as he focused his full attention to the curious girls. "I know where this is going, Kit. You too, Cottontail. Don't deny it."

Blake raised a brow while Velvet scowled. "Are those our new monickers now?"

"Y'know what? Since most of these brats are out cold, how about a little exchange?" Major Vickers smirked, most probably at their apprehension to whatever bone he was going to throw at them. He proceeded to list off the fingers on his right hand. "Veronica hates my guts, Cass won't talk to me, and Boone would rather pretend I'm dead. Hell, I'm surprised Raul hasn't ditched me yet. Not to mention Arcade, the poor bastard." He shrugged. "They have their reasons. Now what about Mister Adam Taurus?" He simpered at their discomfort. "And whoever this Coco is."

Velvet felt her ears droop. "This is going to be a long night."

* * *

Hours later, Velvet was shaken awake by Weiss.

"Good morning, Velvet. How are you feeling?"

Blinking away the slight dizziness, she groggily replied, "Better. A bit hard to breathe though."

The heiress grimaced at that but still tacked on a comforting mien. "Wonderful."

Velvet strained to see past her silhouette. Bright orange light filtered through the open doorway and was blaring into her eyes. "Ugh, what time is it?"

"Just past dawn."

Across from her, Blake stretched her arms and tried to ignore Yang's best attempts to coax her off the floor. Velvet yawned and nearly nodded off again.

"Velvet, how much rest have you had?"

"A few hours, I think..."

"A few hours? Then again, it was quite difficult finding rest last night. Hmm. That might explain..."

Velvet creaked an eye open. "Mm~? Explain what?"

Weiss shook her head. "Nothing."

The rabbit faunus mustered up enough energy to move the heiress aside so she could see...a shadow slumped by the entrance. Wide-brimmed hat tipped over a head bowed, revolver in one hand while his feathered carbine sat cradled snugly behind his other arm. If anything were to suddenly wake him up, that unfortunate threat would have little to no chance to react. Or so Velvet imagined.

She couldn't help but smile. "Stubborn old man." He actually stood guard.

"That he is," acquiesced Weiss, appearing rather subdued.

Ren came over and added, "He set traps and mines down the path. Jaune almost tripped the first one."

"At least the buffoon didn't blow himself up."

Velvet almost chuckled into her palm. "He really cares."

Ren gawked at her with an almost unreadable expression on his face. Nora was still sulking in the corner while she half-heartedly played with Syrup. Ruby and Pyrrha flanked her, saying nothing but trying to think of something to cheer her up while Jaune tended to all three.

"Give me five minutes," the sophomore requested and went back to peaceful slumber before she could hear Weiss protest.

The next time she woke up, she was helped onto a makeshift stretcher despite her protests. She hated encumbering those around her so it came as a bitter pill to swallow when Jaune and Ren—wrapped in bandoliers, guns slung over their shoulders, and field kits weighing over their backs like army grunts—ended up having to carry her down the path. Her feeling of helplessness was compounded by the still air that surrounded the group as they silently followed Six back to Hopeville.

* * *

Yang stood in front of the line of open graves with her hand over her face. The stench was gagging but she had to pay her respects at least. It was hard trying to get over her first (human) kills and she knew she would be drowning her troubles at the nearest bar. She had to address her guilt to make the coping easier, as far as she knew.

Six wordlessly agreed to her suggestion to stop by at the intersection where they laid to rest the remains of the Marked Men. While team JNPR-S carried Velvet inside a derelict tenement (partially out of precaution and mostly because of the smell), team RWBY crossed the street to the open graves, vultures and corvids flapping away with bits of rotting flesh in their beaks. Maggots inundated the cadavers in moving white puddles, exposed bone and rotting flesh glistening under the sunlight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered behind her palms. "I didn't mean to. We had to defend ourselves. I'm sorry for doing this to you." Regardless of what they did in life, they were still human beings. Granted, they were tortured human beings who were in constant pain and driven mad by their agony. Yang tried to convince herself that they had gone feral—fair game when they've devolved into Grimm-like rabidity, right?—but when she heard that NCR soldier call out Six in a sentient, understandable sentence...

"They're in a better place," Ruby choked behind her tightly wrapped hanky. Optimistic baby sister, how she would give anything to have that outlook.

"They gave us no choice," Weiss added softly. "Our actions were...justified. We abided by the standard rules of engagement...if they have any."

Blake rested her hand on her partner's shoulder. "We've done what we could, Yang."

The blonde brawler wiped her face. "I suppose so." Nodding at her team, she turned on her heel, and followed them back to the group. How did Six get used to this? Oh, yeah. He was a war criminal. A war criminal with a heart and standards buried under a lifetime of horrors. Hard to believe and she would sometimes scoff at it. Then again, he didn't abandon them. He even had several chances to off them then and there. But he didn't. And it was for that reason she believed that they all subconsciously agreed not to leave him behind.

Yang exhaled then turned on her heels. Team RWBY returned to the tenement. When the brawler stepped inside, she bore witness to a spectacle that made her feel a bit better.

* * *

Pyrrha could imagine how pathetic she must have appeared, crying on Jaune's shoulder. While Yang mustered the resolve to face her victims head-on, the champion sat here, using her shattered ankle as an excuse to evade the remains of the two men she fatally shot. It made it slightly difficult to use her Garand, let alone touch it. How discomforting even that that gun held some resemblances to Miló's rifle form.

Jaune was very encouraging with his words, though most of them missed their mark. Ren had a few choice phrases, though most of them had been used futilely to gauge Nora out of her shell (and the girl herself still had to deal with the fact that she maimed a handful of others under the mistaken assumption they had Aura). Uplifting as they were, she still felt the weight of having actually taken another person's life over her conscience. She was a tournament fighter; every opponent was another individual who had a home to return to, a family that cared for them, friends who were expecting them regardless of the outcome of the duel.

The two Marked Men she killed yesterday were leagues beyond those who she had faced in battle. Tattered, flayed, and seething with pained rage. Insane with hate but intelligent enough to finely execute standard military tactics. As they had been trained to do.

Yesterday's skirmish was no duel, no sparring match, no exhibition game. It had been a struggle for survival where the outcome was irreversible. She was no murderer; she was brought up to slay Grimm and challenge troublemakers! Why did she have to feel so guilty? They fired first! She didn't mean to kill them!

Just as she was about to break into another fitful of tears, she felt Jaune's arms wrap over her head, pressing her damp cheek against the nape of his neck.

"I can't really fathom how hard this is for you. But know that this won't change who you are. I know you, I believe in you. You're my partner, Pyrrha. Don't let the grief consume you."

She beamed up at him even as fresh tears trickled down her moist cheeks. "T-thank you, Jaune..."

As she reciprocated his embrace, she noticed his eyes suddenly dart away. She was that Major Vickers had been leaning against a column behind her. Jaune was doing his best to comfort her while dealing with his own issues. Might as well return the favor. "Let it go, Jaune."

"Let what go?"

"He didn't mean any of it."

A snort. "Oh, I'm sure he didn't."

"Jaune."

"I'm sorry, Pyr," he sighed. "You just don't say those things. Especially to Nora of all people. After what she's been through, what you've all been through..."

"He was caught up in the moment." They had detached from each other and she caught him glancing across the room. "He was angry."

"So am I."

"Jaune, please."

"If you have something to say to me, say it now, Knight-boy," echoed Six.

Pyrrha turned around. The look on the Courier's face was...not contempt. "Major—"

Jaune stood. "Sorry for breaking Samson," he said coldly.

Major Vickers was...unimpressed, if Pyrrha could narrow down the proper word to describe what she was seeing. The man huffed. "Don't bullshit me, kid. We can talk about that fuck-up later."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blonde knight sneered. "What were you expecting me to say?"

The champion stiffened. That anger and sarcasm she had heard before when Jaune was going through a phase with Cardin. They were treading on burning coal here. She was not in the mood for an argument right now especially after having gone through her own roller-coaster of emotions.

"Anything that ain't half-assed. Call me out, go ahead. I've got the time."

Her partner's fists were white and shaking. Pyrrha made to pacify him but he stepped out of her reach. "Jaune, wait."

"I admit that we were in the wrong here. But was it really necessary to go that far?"

Six raised his chin. "Politics. Can't be helped. It's part of survival; it's in our nature."

The leader of team JNPR-S coughed out a false laugh. Now Ren and Velvet were eying them, the former ready to intervene should anything go awry. "Really now. Does verbal abuse count or is that just natural to you?"

"No, that's just me."

"Is that so." Jaune was seething. "You do know Nora and Ren are _orphans_. Ruby and Yang lost their _mothers_. Weiss doesn't even have a proper _father figure_." Too caught up in his own tirade, he gestured at the rest of the bewildered group while keeping his glare centered fully on him. "You do know that half of us here don't have stellar childhoods. Didn't you get the memo or did we forget to tell you that story?"

The Courier straightened and made one step in his direction. Jaune flinched, causing everyone else to flinch. To his credit, the blonde knight did not yield any ground despite how his nerves were starting to fail him. Pyrrha winced as she stood up, silently praying for calm.

To her surprise, the Courier strode past him, past Ren, past her, towards the huddled Nora. Syrup planted itself in front of its master, baring teeth and growling. Six angled his head, nudged the beast away with his boot, and waited until the ginger girl stopped ignoring him.

"Don't hold back."

Nora twitched.

SLAP!

Six's head was whipped violently to the side. Nora was standing, huffing, fury burning in her moist reddened eyes. Her shoulders pumped and her fists were clenched tighter than Yang on her Semblance. He recovered quickly and stretched his arms. "I won't stop you."

Instead of a mighty Viking fist of fury, the bubbly teen constricted his waist with her muscled arms. She started crying.

"I'msorryi'msorryi'msorrypleasedon'tbemadSixRenandIdon'thaveanyparentsandIreallywantedustobelikeafamily!"

"Goddamn it, let go of me!"

"I'mreallyreallysorrySix!"

"It's fine! Now get off!"

"I'llstopcallingyou'daddy'andmakeRentobakeyoulotsofpancakes!"

Six pried her arms off him. "I get it, I get it!"

"Well, you two made up real quick," came an amused remark.

The Courier glared at Yang. "Shut up, Blondie."

* * *

The warm air of the Mojave brought about a welcoming feeling that nearly sent Ruby tumbling back onto her rear. She fell back on her rucksack, threw her arms into the air, and let the non-shearing breeze dry off her sweat.

"It's so good to be back!"

"All that walking," Yang groused while plopping onto the ground. Setting aside their two remaining water jugs, she undid the laces on her boots to free her aching feet which were by now blistered. "Damn. I miss Bumblebee. Maybe we can Raul to reassemble a new bike."

Jaune and Ren carefully laid down the stretcher before resting on their ends. Other than Velvet and Six, everyone savored the rest from the long arduous trek back out of the Divide either by dropping onto their ends or shedding their boots and bags. Even Nora skirted the limitations of her endurance after cradling Syrup, Magnhild, and a separate China Lake grenade launcher at the same time for the duration of their egress.

"Amazing how you seem so unfazed by this journey," Weiss remarked at the Courier surveying the sprawling expanse of desert.

"You get used to it," he answered, still sweeping over the highways and the nearby gambling pit stop called Primm. His head suddenly locked a few degrees to southeast. "Ah, shit."

"Something wrong?" Blake inquired, following his gaze to the southern cliffsides.

Six tucked away his binoculars. "You kids head on to Primm. Head straight to the Mojave Express chapter and talk to Johnson Nash. Tell him it's on me. He'll know what to do."

"Wait, who?"

"Johnson Nash?"

"Wasn't he your boss at some point?"

"Why?" pressed Velvet.

The Courier began working rapidly on his Pip-boy. "Things have changed now. Ignore any NCR troops you come across. If they accost you, keep the conversations short and unassuming."

Weiss scrunched her brow. "Why the sudden—"

He held up his hand. "I'll be heading east. Lay low in Primm. Move up to Goodsprings first chance you get. It's much quieter there. Nash'll give you the details."

"Um, why?" Yang asked.

"Politics." Six almost smirked at the guilty looks on their faces. "The NCR doesn't know about what happened in the Divide. Not yet. Once they do... Well, you'll see how the landscape changes. So best to keep this all hush-hush 'til things get sorted out."

Ruby brought up her knees to sandwich her chin. "We screwed up real bad, huh."

"I won't hold it against you, kid. Just stay out of Vegas for a couple days. Get your bearings first. Do not, I repeat, do not make contact with Hsu or Crocker or any NCR liaison unless they initiate communication. Got it?"

"What are we going to say if they do contact us?" asked Jaune.

"The truth or whatever half-assed lie you could come up with. It wouldn't matter anyway. The fact that you made it out of the Divide in the condition that you're in means only one thing only: Samson is down. And they won't hesitate to act on that."

"But they're unsure if Samson is even a weapon, let alone exists!" argued Weiss.

"I call bullshit on that." The Courier continued chancing glances to the south. "I'm going off of borrowed time here so get moving as soon as you can."

"I take it you'll be handling some sort of damage control," Pyrrha guessed.

"Nothing new to me, Sparta. I've been cleaning up after airheads like you for decades. There are a lot of idiots out there that are dumber than you think. Done dumber shit than what you pulled off." Six quickly sorted through his equipment and slung his pack over his shoulder. "Watch yourselves. I'm heading out now."

He barely made it three steps down the slope when he felt Ruby pulling on his arm. "Six, wait!"

"Damn it, what now, Hyper?"

She bit her lip, twiddling her thumbs and gazing with faux interest at the bits of grass growing out of the waterless soil.

"I ain't got all day."

The little reaper closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her silver pupils were glossy. "I just wanted to say...I'm really, really sorry for ruining—"

Vickers stooped low to her level and said, "Ruby, it's taking me every fiber of my being to not wring your damn neck right now."

She let go, unable to meet his glare. "I...I'm s-sorry..."

He tapped her on the shoulder and spoke softly. "That don't mean I'm angry at you forever. It's only taking me a while to let this slide. Just don't pull off shit like this next time, okay?"

Ruby nodded, noticing the cloudiness in his eyes.

"Good." Six ruffled her hair, a foggy expression crossing his features, his voice sounding distant. "Be a good girl, sweetie. I'll be gone for a while, 'kay? Remember to lock the doors and windows unless your mother says otherwise." And he immediately departed, leaving behind a bewildered group of teens and their ever-oblivious pet deathclaw.

* * *

Later that evening, teams RWBY, JNPR-S, and their 'group mom' Velvet were huddled upstairs in the spare guest rooms of the Nash residence in Primm, well-fed, cleaned-up, and kept well away from the curious eyes of the NCR presence in the town. While most of the teens were still mulling over Six's parting words, Blake and Velvet were more attentive to the chatter downstairs in the office.

"That's a damn shame," echoed Mister Johnson Nash.

"Yeah. They looked real tight, too," sympathized a younger voice, probably one of Mojave Express couriers dropping off their packages.

"Shit. Four dead NCR Rangers? Only Legion could go toe-to-toe with them tough sons o' bitches," a third voice piped, most likely another courier.

"I thought the Legion got kicked out years ago."

"Eh, wouldn't be surprised if they still got their damn scouts moving back up here. Finicky bastards."

"Now, now. Where'd you boys find them bodies?" Nash inquired.

"Wasn't just us that found 'em, boss. NCR guys were swarming the area."

"A few clicks southeast of Canyon Wreckage, they said. Place even had a nice view of Primm and everything. Hell, one of them greenies said you could pro'lly see through the crack in them cliffs all the way up to the Divide from there."

"Apparently, some distress call went out. They were being attacked while scouting something. By the time the cavalry got there, they got four dead bodies with their body armor all done shot up, holes in the back of their heads, and most of their gear missing."

"Sounds like an execution."

"More an ambush _and_ an execution."

"Seems more and more Legion-y if you ask me."

"Yeah, but then they'd crucify 'em and we didn't see no crosses there."

"Oh, by the way, you heard? Bunch of ex-slaves from Arizona got let in at Fort Mead. Got out from some slave revolt or something."

"No shit? Jar-heads are pro'lly screening the poor bastards in case of a Legion spy."

"Alright, I think that's enough talk o' that," Nash dismissed. "You boys get some rest 'fore you head back out. Best leave those issues to the NCR to deal with it. That's what all these damn taxes are for, anyway."

Upstairs, the two faunus girls shared knowing looks. Without saying a word, they both agreed that the unfortunate Ranger squadron was hit neither by Legion affiliates nor raiders.

* * *

 **NOTE: This took a while to flesh out. Mainly because this is the fifth or seventh draft for this chapter. Maybe you could call this the 'denouement' or 'falling action' for this story arc because of how things are coming together. Somewhat.**

 **It was fun reading through the reviews. I did not expect a lot of you guys to come to a nearly unanimous conclusion as to Six's true intent regarding Samson. It feels good to be this engaging with the audience. :D**

 **Anyway, hope you guys like this. Let me know what you think. :)**

 **~o~**

 ** _Review dude:_ Fallout 76 caught me by surprise. A Fallout title so soon? Knowing Bethesda, I was fully expecting it to be an online thing, much like with _The Elder Scrolls: Online_. I wasn't wrong but I'm not as excited. I** **'m more of single-player but I'll be keeping an eye on how this new title would perform.**

 **~o~**

 **Omake.**

* * *

Six picked up the discarded book to give it a good look. Unlike most pieces of literature he came across in the wasteland (drenched, burnt, or weathered with age), this one appeared to have come off the printing press rather recently. Probably a new publication from California.

The cover was...colorful, to say the least, having caught his attention while rummaging through the corpses at this highway pit stop.

' _Ninjas,' huh._ He flipped through the pages. _Oh. Great. Another sappy romance novel...with an interesting plot...and pictures..._

He to let the book hang vertically. An entire spread unfolded before him.

"Holy shit. Now that's a katana."

The Courier averted his gaze to look at the dead raiders around him. _Whoever they got this off of, they got some really weird kinks. Not my kind of thing but damn...this is fucking graphic._ Or perhaps that one junkie who was busy beating off to this while his buddies were getting shot up actually purchased this legitimately from some passing caravan. Who knows, really?

Folding the pages back in, Six was about to toss it back into the desert when he remembered...

There were people who would actually pay for this stuff. _Smut is rare. Well-drawn smut with a good plot is even rarer. Definitely a market for this. Probably fetch a good price from some rich bastard with a creepy fetish._ And then there was that ghoul Beatrix Russell up at Freeside. He shuddered at the thought of her sexual preferences. _Yeah, Beatrix might want this._

Deciding that he had wasted enough time, Six tucked the book into his pack and continued walking.

 _'Ninjas of Love' is a pretty stupid title, though._

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: May 19, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: June 13, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 13, 2018**


	21. Negotiations

It had been two days since they stayed cooped up in the Nash residence, mostly helping Pyrrha and Velvet recover enough to walk on their own while lending a hand out the Nashes on mundane chores, only rarely stepping outside to fix the plumbing or clear debris. Mister Nash surprisingly countered the NCR Sheriff's attempts at taking 'protective custody,' even so far as brazenly telling off his deputies.

It would not be long, however, before a more thoroughly-equipped military unit would come knocking to 'escort' the 'Vegas Wonder Kids' back to Camp McCarran. Thus, the Remnant teens were making preparations for the journey up to Goodsprings.

"Thank you so much, Mister Nash," Weiss said with a finesse of a Schnee.

"No need to get formal on me," Johnson Nash waved off. "You young'uns needed the help and I'd never be able to sleep well in my grave if I left you out on the streets." He leaned on the counter while half of the 'Vegas Wonder Kids' made final checks on their equipment. The rest were upstairs feeding their pet deathclaw. How they managed to find one and domesticate it was beyond him.

"Say," Jaune threw in. "You, uh, got any advice for, y'know, traveling on the highway?"

The elderly man chuckled loudly, grabbing the others' attention. "Don't shoot yourself in the foot, son."

"I think I already got that."

"I'm sure you did." Then the mirth died and the mien that graced his wrinkled features made them weary. "Of course, given what you all done did in the Divide, I reckon the NCR'll be all over the roads keeping an eye out for you. They'd be wanting an explanation themselves. Especially since they apparently lost some of their own."

"We'll try to keep out of sight," Velvet assured.

Ruby cleared her throat. "Um, Mister Nash? You were Six's boss, right?"

"For about four or five years, yeah."

She twiddled her thumbs. "So...can you say that, uh... Would you think that, um...after what we did...that Six is, y'know, still mad at us?"

"Of course he is," Nash deadpanned.

The girl winced at that while the rest gawk disbelievingly. "O-oh..."

"He didn't show it," added Jaune nervously. "Much."

Johnson shrugged. "Stubborn mule is almost always angry. Never lets faults as big as yours go that lightly. You said you screwed up his life's work in there or something. Any other man would either up and leave you or shoot you where you stood."

"So why didn't he?" Blake wondered.

"Because he's a sentimental son of a mule."

Weiss sputtered. "Come again?"

"If you would've burned down every single Express chapter in the wasteland and buy out the ashes, then I'd probably pull out my six-shooter and get revenge or shoot myself in the head, my age notwithstanding," Nash explained. "But knowing Vickers, he'd postpone the wrath of God until later. Hell, I reckon he's probably taking his time thinking about a proper punishment other than killing you all outright."

"That's reassuring," Velvet groused softly.

Johnson continued, "The fact that he decided to take you all in and raise you as his own—"

"We were not entirely reared in a familial manner per se," Weiss politely interjected.

"But he still treats you like his own. Or so everyone says." He studied their faces for a while. "I can tell that you don't know."

"Don't know what, Mister Nash?" pressed Blake.

The elderly man sighed onto the countertop. "I can understand why he didn't tell you. Hell, he hardly tells anyone these days." He paused a bit longer before shrugging to himself. "Pardon my language, kids, but my gut's telling me shit's going to go down soon and it's about time you know this. For your own good and his. The man's lost a wife and child in Arizona several years ago. Legion raid."

Ruby coughed while disbelieving sputters echoed from around the room.

Nash shook his head. "If you ask me, he still hasn't let that one go. Usually you have to get him a dozen bottles in to even talk about it. I hate to jump to conclusions but I get the feeling that you remind him so much of his, well, family that he'd be cutting himself open again if he let you go. That don't mean he'll let you off the hook though."

Glances were exchanged between the teens before Blake rasped her fingers on the wood and asked, "Mister Nash, before he left, he told Ruby to 'be a good girl' and to 'lock the doors and windows unless her mother said otherwise.'"

Johnson leaned back as his fingers rubbed at the graying stubble on his chin. "He wasn't drinking, wasn't he?"

They all shook their heads.

"Ah. Maybe the stress and the withdrawal triggered some suppressed memories. Not my place to say though; I'm no doctor." He frowned. "You kids must be curious about his family. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

Blake nodded. "That's okay. Thank you for the, um, information, though."

"Just be careful when asking those kinds of questions."

Ruby's gaze darted from one object to another, eventually settling on the radio sitting on the far edge of the counter. Nash reached over and turned the dial, the music fading and the soothing voice of Mister New Vegas filling the room.

" _[...and now, for the news. NCR officials have dismissed unofficial reports of Legion refugees from Arizona occupying Fort Mead. Additionally, General James Hsu has reiterated the Republic's commitment to its revised foreign policy with regards to the influx of migrants and travelers coming into Nevada from the east...]_ "

"There's been a lot of chatter about those refugees," Blake remarked.

"Something we should concern ourselves with?" Weiss inquired.

"It may not matter to you now," Nash intoned. "But what happens over there is going to matter over here sooner or later, whether you like it or not. Whatever you did in the Divide, it ain't my place to say whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. If it's really as bad as you say it is, then we'd all better start digging up our own graves out back."

Ruby shrunk shamefully at that.

The elderly man rebounded with a convincing laugh. "I'm just messing with you. Things aren't as bad as it is; it's always been like this. Killing, raping, robbing, looting, nothing new under the sun. You'd be surprised how many people here grew up all on their own, living off of scraps while trying to hide from slavers, hungry mutants, and the worst kind of folk to walk the streets at night. Some poor kids don't make it. The lucky ones find work and even that's another basket of venom and spices altogether." He smirked at their visible discomfort. "I take it Vickers didn't tell you too much about life out here."

They shakily nodded, Jaune suddenly paler.

"And you still don't know how bad it is?"

Hesitant nods and a couple uneasy shrugs.

Nash grinned. "You kids are so sheltered, it's adorable."

"I don't feel good about that," the little reaper muttered.

The elderly man folded his arms and exhaled. "That damn stubborn mule. Ah, at least you know who's in charge around here."

"The NCR?" came Velvet's slow and unsure answer.

"Hmph, you've got the basics covered."

"I'm guessing there's more to that," Weiss said.

Johnson Nash planted his arms firmly on the countertop. "A lot more than you'd imagine."

* * *

Brigadier General James Hsu returned the salutes given him by the administrative officers of the Aerotech Office Park. The non-ceremonial parade review was quick and the soldiers dismissed to their posts. He entered the fortified suite, leaving his personal security detail of uniformed Rangers and heavy shock troops to man the perimeter.

The fact that the whole building was surprisingly almost entirely empty—even reception was devoid of staff—came off as a bit of a blessing given who he was meeting here. Former Major Theodore Vickers was leaning next to a vending machine in the back with his arms folded.

"Back already," the General started, preferring to stand in the front of the unmanned counter.

"I work fast," the Courier replied coolly.

"How was the mission?"

"False alarm."

Hsu was hesitant before responding, "I see. Our intel must have been off then."

"Very."

The two men studied each other for the next minute—heavy bags under the eyes, unkempt facial hair, red cracks around the irises, signs that they were both equally under strain but refusing to bend—until James broke the silence. "Is there anything else to report?"

Vicker's gas mask hung off the side of his neck, allowing him to display his full contempt for the commander. "Why did you send my kids to the Divide?"

Hsu felt his brow rise. "Come again?"

"Why did you send _my kids_ to the Divide, General?"

Stiff pause. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't bullshit me, James," Six rebutted coolly. "Those brats spent hours digging around in a place that would have gotten any older man ripped apart in minutes. They were lucky they didn't walk into a radioactive sinkhole."

The NCR commander remained impassive. "What is Samson, Six?"

"Nothing but a broken relic of the Old World. I wouldn't bother myself with it."

"I know when you're lying." Hsu began pacing around the reception area, radiating authority relevant to his rank. "There so many things we cannot ignore anymore. Moving in and out of the Divide, clandestine deals with the local factions, transfer of 'scientific materiel' through independent channels, even twisting our own internal troops to suit your designs—"

"Don't be a hypocrite, James. I moved the chain of command to get you where you are. The blood spilt to pin those stars on your lapel are as much on your hands as they are on mine."

"There is a limit to how much I can be persuaded, Six."

The Courier gestured mockingly. "Oh? Is this your patriotism speaking? Because, if I recall, you looked the other way while Oliver and Moore got what they so rightfully deserved."

"Enough is enough," countered the General with an expression rare of him: visible anger. "It's time you realized that. I have a nation to serve, people to defend! I swore an oath to protect and serve my country. You spoke the same words when _you_ signed that merger."

"We only agreed to your Republic because it was better than capitulating to the Legion," Vickers flared back. "Times were different back then. We were desperate, on the verge of splintering. We gave up our identity in exchange for your so-called 'protection!' We waited on your presidents' promises and your Senate's goddamn hearings. All for what? This? My patience has already run out."

Hsu's anger subsided to allow for sympathy. "No plan survives contact with the enemy and you know that. You understand that completely."

A snort. "My kids thought they were doing the world a favor. They nearly damned us all with what they did. Not just me, you, your Republic, but every single living thing across the American continent..."

"So you admit to harboring Samson, an alleged unsanctioned weapon of mass destruction."

The Courier simpered, a mirthless chuckle slipping through his lips. "Samson is still active."

Hsu froze—his steely demeanor cracked slightly. "I'm inclined to disbelieve that."

"You used my kids. You turned them against me." Every word came off acidly. "Congratulations, James. You have won yourself a new enemy."

To his credit, the officer regained his composure with the same power returning to his voice. "You know, I've always been curious. Why the vested interest in these youths? Puts a strain in your efforts, don't you think? What benefit do they give you in the long run?"

"They're more than just tools, goddamn it! They're teenagers with special powers and a gullible sense of heroism. Lost, confused, and fucking stupid to boot." Six equally rounded the unoccupied reception desk. "There's a reason why I've been keeping them from you all this time. We Desert Rangers got the short end of the stick and suffered for it. I don't intend to let the same happen to them."

"Was it for those reasons that you worked hard on Samson? A vendetta? A bargaining chip?" the General challenged.

"Samson is merely a tool to protect Nevada from any and all threats."

"Nevada has been annexed into the Republic since Hoover Dam. That puts Samson within our territorial jurisdiction." He made to add how the NCR was daftly unprepared for it only to bite back his tongue. The man before him can no longer be trusted with his country's weaknesses.

Six sneered. "Can you really call the Divide NCR territory? You lost an entire regiment when the place fell apart and left the remains to rot," the Courier growled. "The Divide belongs to those who brave it and tame it. And I've been pacifying that hellhole for two years. I have to hand it to you. You convinced my kids to pull the rug from under me. Kudos. They didn't do a good job of it though."

"Whatever Samson may be, know that we are preparing for it." Hsu pointed an accusatory finger at him. "And know that you will be in held accountable in the event that it will be used against us. We have the evidence and the means to prosecute you. Times are different now, Six."

Vickers snorted as he mockingly bobbed his head. "Oh~, I feel guilty already."

The General's fists curled. "A Ranger squadron was massacred west of Primm. Their final transmission was identifying you as the culprit. You know what that means."

The Courier was oddly unintimidated.

"You've committed a grave criminal offense in NCR territory punishable by NCR law. You say I've made an enemy out of you? Well, how am I supposed to react to this crime?"

"Consider it a declaration of war."

He scrunched his brow. "A nation against you?"

Six smiled wickedly. "I can ruin your career as easily as I did Moore's."

Hsu scowled. "You're only one man. We will ruin you."

"Never underestimate your foes. When the day comes, I wouldn't be the only one you'll be facing on the battlefield."

The General exhaled. "Then it's a shame that it has to come to this. You're a good man, Six but know that you've brought this upon yourself." He slowly withdrew his pistol from his holster. "I have Tier One groups outside covering every square inch of this building. If you intend to make a last stand, know that it would not be as glorious as you intend it to be. You could come quietly with us and we can all let bygones be bygones."

The Courier chuckled. "Do you honestly think I didn't see that coming?"

Hsu shuffled slightly.

Vickers refastened his gas mask, locking his respirator into place, and opened his gloved palm to reveal a detonator. His thumb clamped down on the dark red button, staying that way. "There are thirty tons of explosives concealed in and around the complex. You can call in your bomb squads but are you really going to risk it? If you're careful, you could minimize the casualties. If you're smart, you can walk out of this alive and no one else dies."

Uneasy silence. The General cleared his throat. "Most of the refugees we have at Fort Mead are from Remnant."

The Courier raised a doubtful brow. "A little too late to be making a bargain now, don't you think?"

"They still have their slave collars on them. We couldn't get them off. Different design. Impervious to conventional means. We've been trying to find ways to disable them."

"Really now. And they can't use Aura, Dust, or Semblance to get out of it, eh."

"The collars deny them usage of those. It seems they were manufactured specifically for that purpose."

Six glimmered. "Quite the sell, James. Do you really expect me to believe that a bunch of 'freed Legion slaves' from Remnant out of all places couldn't get their damn collars off even though they're fucking capable of naturally defying physics and reality?"

"They are led by two capable Huntresses."

"Who can't get their own collars off, I presume."

"I already told you. The collars nullify their advantages."

The Courier scoffed. "Nice try deodorizing bullshit. You could've come up with a better story than that—"

"Winter Schnee, older sister of Weiss Schnee. Early to mid-twenties. White hair, claims to be a military specialist from a nation called Atlas in Remnant, holds significant authority over the group. She carries around a rapier like her younger sibling. She is one of the two representatives for the refugees."

Vickers was unable to contain the sudden flare that broke his pokerface. He stared at the officer with an equally unreadable mien. Good thing he could still control the shakes lest he would have lost his advantage in this battle of wills.

"I don't doubt that you don't know who she is. I'm sure Weiss must have talked a lot about her. She must miss her dearly."

Six hardened his glare. His grip tightened on the detonator, his tone dropping dangerously. "What do you want with my kids?"

"We only want to return them to Remnant." Hsu could tell how unconvinced he was but pressed further. "We can discuss more intricate details as well as a potential pardon for the murders...if you come with us."

The Courier narrowed his gaze. "Weiss can see Winter at a later time. Make your choice, James. Either you go or we all go."

In the five minutes of silence that followed, the General mulled his remaining options; he played all his cards, tempted the beast, and now was facing insanity personified. There was no getting through this unscathed. Alas, this was inevitable. Breathing deep and knowing fully now that this was no bluff—and no other alternative in the Republic's favor—the officer mouthed into the communicator fastened over his chest. "All units. Stand down."

Weapon clicks and shuffling boots echoed behind the walls and windows.

"That's a shame, Six. The sisters would have loved a reunion. Miss Winter was very eager to see her sister again. I'm sure young Weiss would have felt doubly so if she knew," James bade as he holstered his pistol.

"Given the circumstances, it'd be safer for Snowball to keep her distance," Vickers countered, the detonator still wound tightly in his grasp.

The General was quiet for a while, locked deep in thought. He had thrown down his cards but there was one more nagging thought that needed to be addressed. "I'm not a religious man but I'm no stranger to the story of Samson. A champion of his age. Incredibly strong. And arrogant. He spelled his own downfall by falling for a woman named Delilah." He paused slightly before continuing. "Samson and Delilah." His voice dropped to a low whisper as he stared at a tile on the floor. "Delilah..."

Six's voice was deep and cold. "We're done here, James."

The doors opened and the officer's escorts stopped short of swarming the interior. He righted himself and turned on his heel. "I'll inform Miss Schnee of this unfortunate development." He spared one final glance over his shoulder. "Until next time, Six."

"Likewise, General." Former Major Theodore Vickers eyed the mix of lightly armored Rangers and heavy shock troops swarming around their charge. One of them had a black mass incessantly pecking on his shoulder.

Brigadier General James Hsu paused in his stride to witness that particular member of his security detail flail away the vexing corvid. "Shoo, shoo! Get off! Damn bird."

* * *

" _[Hello?]_ "

" _[Dennis.]_ "

" _[General. I was just about to retire for the night.]_ "

" _[I'm on my way to the embassy. We have a new problem.]_ "

" _[... What is it now?]_ "

" _[Six was one step ahead. He knows.]_ "

" _[... Dear sweet Lord... Has Samson been taken care of at least?]_ "

" _[We can't know for sure until we debrief the teenagers.]_ "

" _[Have they returned?]_ "

" _[We had eyes on them for a while. Give them four days. If they haven't shown up yet, I have grounds to collect them.]_ "

" _[Papa Six is not going to like that.]_ "

" _[He would have to let them go at some point.]_ "

" _[And if he doesn't? If this triggers some kind of incident? The man is unpredictable! This will get bloody, I know it. And Samson—]_ "

" _[Samson has a partner and its name is Delilah.]_ "

" _[Come again?]_ "

" _[We have a new problem and its name is Delilah. We'll talk later in person.]_ "

Line end.

Raul withdrew the headphones from his ears and tuned down the dial to withdraw from the 'secure' NCR frequency. In less than three minutes, the portable radio receiver was folded back into its case which the ghoul strapped onto his field pack. With skill honed from two centuries of wasteland vigilantism, he rappelled down the Highway 95 overpass, unlatched his hooks, and quickly disappeared into the night.

Trekking the wilderness, the ghoul pondered on stepping out of retirement again. Another crisis was rearing its ugly head. And apparently, Boss's secrets were far more ominous that he had taken them for. Samson and Delilah? What could those be? And why was the NCR so afraid of them?

This he could not ignore. He would have to confront the Courier about it. Especially now that the little _diablos_ were dragged so deep into this.

* * *

The Courier squeezed himself onto the only vacant stool behind the bar. Dumb luck to walk into the Atomic Wrangler on a busy night. On the bright side, it was past two in the morning and most of the patrons were either liquored up in their rooms or liquored out on the streets.

"Man, you look like you haven't had any sleep," mused the casino's proprietor James Garret.

Six downed his first shot of the night. "Any spare rooms?"

"Sorry, buddy. We're fully booked. Tourist season's kicking up."

A grunt. "Ah, well. Can't be helped, I guess." Halfway through his whiskey, he angled to his right to glare irritably at the amused man seated next to him. "What?"

"Hard times?" the stranger inquired with a slight curve on the edge of his lips.

"Yeah." Another shot. Probably his fifth. Or sixth. "Hard fuckin' times."

"Y'know, for the sake of our business, please keep it civil, 'kay?" Garret inserted nervously then went back to busying himself with some dirty drinking glasses behind him.

Six offered a dull wave. "I won't burn down the place, Garret. Wouldn't have another place to drink freely if I did."

James hummed in response.

"Say, you wouldn't mind me asking..."

The Courier exhaled. Eighth shot. Or was it ninth? "What?"

"Any suggestions for a good night out on the Strip?"

"... You're asking me?"

The stranger shrugged. "If you've noticed, you're the only one still awake and I want to hear it from someone other than the bartender."

"... Fine. Gomorrah, if you're looking for some freaky kinky shit. Ultra-Luxe for your fancy pants. Or go for the Tops to get the classic Vegas experience. Bunch of other cash pots down the road but those are the big three."

"What about the Lucky 38?"

Six resisted the urge to grip the curious son of a bitch by his lapels and toss him halfway across the lounge. Having emptied his first bottle of the night, he swiveled to his side to fully face this really persistent tourist. "Privately-owned. On lockdown last I heard. Stay away from the place. It's bad luck."

The stranger smirked. "Really now."

"I think we're done here."

"Wait. Let me buy you a drink."

Six stiffened. He rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, no offense, buddy. I'm straight."

The tourist laughed. "So am I! Come on, man. I came out here all by myself and the first friendly helpful stranger I meet turns down a rare gesture of gratitude?"

The Courier felt his shoulders droop. He did have a point—generosity was rare indeed. Might as well. Free alcohol was always blessing (or a curse because the damn thing could be poisoned but he stopped caring at this point because he was tired). Yay for his wallet/s. He slid back onto his stool and waited until James Garret procured for them both two whole bottles of vodka and scotch. Following an icebreaking toast, the two men indulged in a night of awkward conversation: one bitter, the other magnanimous.

An hour later (or two?) later, the stranger slurred, "Ne'er really got 'yer name."

"Jus' call me Six."

"Sex? Shit. I know we jus' met an' I'm flattered but I don't swing that way..."

"No, no... 'Six.' As in the fuck'n numb'r."

"I ain't askin' for your contacts, man. Jus' your name."

The Courier raised (shoved) his extended fingers in front of his drinking buddy until he counted all six extended digits. "How many? Six. Got it?"

"... Sex six times?"

"G'damn it. Just call me Teevee."

"Sure thing, Six," laughed the tourist.

Six glared at him. "Smarmy son'v'a'bitch. What 'bout you, stranger?"

"Eh... Call me Kyubee."

* * *

 **ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 13, 2018**

 **LAST EDITED: June 22, 2018**

 **INITIALLY UPLOADED: June 22, 2018**

 **NOTE: Well... I hope I handled these interactions well. I admit, I completely overlooked how everyone else in the wasteland has it much worse. Thanks for the reminders. Breaking the kids is...a delicate procedure.**

 **Anyway, hope you guys like it so far and let me know what you think of the character developments or something. :)**

 **~o~**

 _ **Guest reviews: **_**Fair point** **.**

 **As for the book, Blake will have to place her bids.**


End file.
